


Not a Fall, But a Leap

by Shinri29



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Character Death, Dark, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Maybe darkish is more accurate, Rotating Point of View, Sarela is channeling a bit of Arya Stark/Sansa Stark at times, Time Travel, reylo child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2020-07-08 15:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19871557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinri29/pseuds/Shinri29
Summary: Excerpt:On the day her mother died she felt the pull of the Force.How fitting that when the Force awoke within her, it was not the pure serenity of Dawn, but the ravenous maw of Night.The knowledge was there, within her grasp, just waiting for her call.When the Dark called to her, it was with one goal in mind that she took a leap--revengeSummary:Some time after the events of the Last Jedi, Kylo Ren and Rey abandon the conflict to make a life for themselves.  However, when the war concludes, the couple are found and tried for their crimes--Kylo as a war criminal, and Rey as an accomplice.  Kylo is swiftly executed, and Rey sentenced to life.Sixteen years later, their daughter feels the pull of the Force for the first time, and with it, the knowledge of time travel.  She travels to the pastto fuck things upwith her own agenda.





	1. The Girl Who Leapt Through Time

**Author's Note:**

> I adore time travel fics and all the requisite implicit moral dilemmas, diverging timelines and readers-know-but-the-characters-don't moments. This fic was born from the idea of what would happen if someone who doesn't give a shit about all those moral dilemmas and only a hazy, biased understanding of the past, had the ability to go back in time to try and change whatever they felt like. As you can imagine, not as easy as they think.
> 
> This is a bit of an experimental format for me. The story is broken into rotating perspectives. It will be obvious once you read, but each chapter after the first will be named for the point of view. The first five chapters of this are written, so **fingers crossed** at least initially, updates will be fast.
> 
> The timeline jumps around a bit, so hopefully I have managed to keep things consistent. In order to avoid some repetitive types of scenes, I do skip around some scenes and fill things in later. If you find things confusing or have any feedback for me, I really appreciate your comments so I can improve as a writer.

On the day her mother died she felt the pull of the Force.

In truth, the woman her mother once was, died long ago. Grief and betrayal and a piece of her soul torn way had rendered her mother a shell of a woman, breathing and sleeping and ingesting sustenance to keep the guards from force feeding her. The Ysalamir stationed by her cell, seeped away what little motivation had kept the woman living.

She liked to think that Rey had tried to live for her. She would never know now.

They said her father, the infamous former Supreme Leader of the First Order, killed twenty men before being taken down, despite being cut off from the Force with suppression cuffs. They said he fought as a man possessed, tearing men with his bare hands, before being taken down like a rabid beast, at the end of 50 blasters held by fearful, righteous men.

The tale grew wilder with every retelling.

She supposed there was a trial--for the destruction of Hosnian Prime, the murder of Lor San Tekka, Han Solo--and countless others. Perhaps his death was justified. A balm to a furious galaxy, wearied of war.

For abetting and protecting a known traitor, her mother was sentenced to life at a high security prison on the former Imperial prison moon Oovo IV. There were those who demanded her execution along with her lover. For many, the wounds of Hosnian Prime could only be doused with blood. But there were an influential few who vouched for the fallen Jedi--amongst them, Finn, an ex-stormtrooper responsible for rallying the embattled Resistance, and Poe Dameron, Resistance general and protege to her late grandmother--their voices carried weight and her mother's punishment was commuted to a life sentence.

When it became known that she carried the child of the former Supreme Leader, there were many discontented voices, but even the angry mob shied away from killing a pregnant woman and an unborn child.

Born in the high security prison to be torn from her mother's arms. Named, and kissed, and stolen.

Sarela, she named her. Sorrow, in the language Teedospeak, originating from the planet Jakku.

_She could feel the phantom kiss against her brow. It lingered and burned, with the grief of billions of voices silenced in a moment, with the rage of a churning black hole, with the love of one already left this world._

Of all languages to choose from, and her mother chose _kriffing_ Teedospeak.

Undoubtably, a prison was no place for a child to grow.

She was given to the care of the Warden, a portly humanoid of dubious origin. Some said former First Order sympathizer, others a corrupt denizen of Canto Bight fallen on the less favorable side of the restored Republic, diminished to exile on Oovo IV. The Warden and his wife were childless, and seen as suitable guardians to the child none wished to remember. Their treatment was not unduly cruel. She was not abused or hurt. But she was not loved.

The sins of one's parents do not determine the course of one's destiny. Good deeds shall be rewarded. This and many more platitudes she was told. But their eyes told a different tale. See what befalls traitors. A child of sin must overcome the weight of the galaxy to find acceptance. Blood will out.

Many hours passed before anyone thought to give word to the unwanted child, to mouth meaningless words of sympathy, vague statements alluding to death meant to placate a child. Even if she had not been aware of the terse murmurs and fearful eyes, one indiscreet guard gasping, "But how could she just disappear--?," she knew her mother was gone.

What is left when the sun has set? The steady, pulsing light which was her mother, had flickered at last.

How fitting that when the Force awoke within her, it was not the pure serenity of Dawn, but the ravenous maw of Night.

The knowledge was there, within her grasp, just waiting for her call.

When the Dark called to her, it was with one goal in mind that she took a leap-- _revenge_.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Sarela remembered the first time she fell.

She was seven years old, young enough to summon pained tears, on the cusp of tumbling passed her lashes at the shocking pain, but already wary of the cold rebuff any weakness would elicit. Blood welled from the shallow scratches ruining the pale skin of her knees. The crisp white and blue dress bore an unsightly red mark, and scuffs from the well trod passages. A fresh grimace twisted her lips at the sight. The Warden's wife would be furious at ruining her new clothing.

As a reward for good behavior, her mother was allowed to see her for the first time in three years. Anxiety and excitement had churned in a sickening slurry within her as she followed her guards to the highest security enclosure of Oovo, reserved for only the most dangerous individuals and highest crimes. _Because of the Force_ , she told herself.

And yet the Force had not protected her mother or father.

Muttered curses preceded the large hand which pulled, none to gently, at her forearm, hauling her bodily to trembling feet. A dull pain throbbed from her damaged knees, but Sarela maintained the ironclad control on her tears.

"And now the whelp has hurt herself. The Jedi whore will cause trouble over this, mark my words." The harsh words of the guard washed over, but it was nothing she hadn't heard before.

Mother, Jedi whore.

" _Jarl_ ," the other guard's voice pitched low, perhaps in warning. Sarela was unaccustomed to anyone taking concern over her feelings, and snuck a glance at the tall man with a short cropped beard and pronounced brow. The man averted his eyes from her inspection, but he did not seem happy with Jarl's words.

Jarl spared her a dismissive glance before sneering at his companion. "Who cares if the traitor's spawn hears me. Now let's get going. The sooner she sees her the sooner we leave."

The rest of the way was spent in silence, with the occasional pitying glance from the kind guard.

As they approached the high security block, the incident was forgotten in the face of new fears. Would mother remember her? Would she be kind? Would she kiss her? Or hold her? Sarela had only the vaguest impression of her mother's face--bright eyes and soft hair pulled into little buns. Sarela could not remember love, but she knew mothers were supposed to love their children. _That's right_ , she told herself, _Mother must love me_.

The cell was now in sight, two thick, sturdy doors of duraplast separated by a narrow gap just large enough for two adults to fit. The kindly guard, fortunately, took her hand as they entered the compartment together, Jarl lingering without. Once the outer door locked into a closed state with an audible click, the kindly guard initiated the sequence of opening the inner door, pressing a large hand against a panel just out of her line of sight, then the door was releasing with a hiss and her mother was there.

"Hello, Sarela."

She was barely aware of the kindly guard murmuring, "You have one hour," before discreetly stepping out the cell.

Unnaturally pale, drawn face, dotted with brown spots. Waist long brown hair pooling around a thin body clad in a blue jumpsuit.

Bright eyes, brimming with tears.

"Baby, come here."

Hearing her mother's warm, familiar voice crack broke the spell, and Sarela felt her legs carry her across the cell and into her mother's arms.

_Mummy Mummy Mummy_

Her mother's arms were strong and tight about her smaller frame. The steadying beat of her heart was the cadence around which her world had turned, unbeknownst her whole life.

The loving warmth of her mother was shaking against her body. _Mother is crying_ , she thought with wonder. _I am crying too._

Hiccuping sobs bubbled through her, but at last Mother pulled away to study her with a tear-stained smile. "Come now, I want to look at you properly. Already seven years old...there is so much of your father in you."

"I want to stay with you. Why can't I stay with you." The words rushed out, childish and petulant, but Sarela was rarely forgiven for the indulgence and something about her mother made her feel small and safe.

Mother's smile grew tighter, but her voice was gentle. "I wish that too baby, more than anything. But you don't belong in a cell. You go to school, don't you? They take care of you, feed you, so you never want for anything?" There was now an edge to her mother's voice, a dark note that sent a shiver down her spine. "Has anyone hurt you, baby?"

Sarela shook her head. "No one hurt me, except when the Warden's wife pinched me for talking back. I hate school. The other children hate me, call me names."

She did not understand the muttered words, but guessed the Warden's wife would pinch her for repeating them. "Sarela, whatever those children say, it doesn't matter. They just repeat the words of others. You are everything good and precious in this galaxy. I love you more than anything."

"I hate them!" she cried, heedless of her mother's attempts to soothe her. "They said father is a monster and a murderer. They said you are a traitor and a Jedi whore. It's not true, is it?"

Mother seemed very pale, her face folding in as if in pain. Sarela wanted to take back everything she said then, but that was as impossible a task as scrapping up spilled milk with her fingers. "Your father is who he is. The world sees him in one way, but know that he wanted to know you. He loved you without being able to meet you. I fell in love with your father, but it wasn't easy for us to be a family together. People wanted to punish him, and punish me for protecting him. One day when you are older, I will try to explain it so you can understand."

Sarela considered her mother's words carefully. Although there was much she did not understand, that she lived in a cruel, unfair world was already known to her.

"I will kill them all," she announced, plainly. The truth of a child is spoken without prevarication, to themselves or others. "For what they did to you, for what they did to Father." 

Swiftly she was pulled into an embrace just shy of painful. Her mother's voice was low and fierce, spoken into her tangle of sable curls. "Sarela, you must never say those words out loud. You must promise me." She pulled away, but kept a firm grip on the starched navy sleeves of the new dress. Mother's eyes were hard slats of jade, her mouth set in a prim line. "They will hurt you. You must promise me you will give them no excuse to do so." At her slow response, she repeated in a harsher tone, " _Promise me_ , Sarela."

"I-I promise."

And so she did. Locked away her pain and rage and resentment somewhere contained and out of sight.

Until the day she was unchained at last.


	2. The General

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the chapter at last. My daughter has been sick so writing/editing couldn't happen when I planned. I ended up adding a lot to this chapter while editing, but I am at the point of exhaustion passed brain functioning so I hope this isn't terrible. 😅😴
> 
> See end note for warnings.

Leia Organa had made a career of riding through and overcoming the unexpected, the tragic, the absurd. There was something satisfying, and calming, about assuming a facade of composure in the face of exposed chaos in others.

She wore implacable calm and elegant dress as a warrior wore armor for battle.

Thus, her gaze little more than flickered at the unsettling report by Major Brance.

"A number of individuals, including the hyperlane lobbyist, Kan Miransi, Senators Thar Forin and Silas Kaal, and the arms dealer Leq Parkere, were found dead in the span of one week. Although the cause of death is still being investigated, the circumstances surrounding their deaths bear remarkable similarities. All victims were found within their homes, either in bed or within private chambers, their bodies unmarked with physical signs of assault. Security cameras were disabled on site, and homes showed no sign of forced entry." Brance paused, a meaningful look as he tilted his head, allowing the silence to linger.

At last the information clicked. "You believe the perpetrator was a force sensitive." Leia felt the old wound ache. Although the ongoing conflict had brought fleeting clashes with Snoke's mysterious enforcer known as Kylo Ren, Leia had thus far been able to avoid direct action with her wayward son. Perhaps that avoidance was coming to an end. "Work of the First Order. Kylo Ren or one of his Knights."

To her surprise, Brance shook his head. "That was our suspicion, naturally, given the alliances of most of the victims. But Ren is not known for covert operations, and if it is the work of the First Order, why the secrecy? Most interestingly, there have been rumors that General Hux was killed in a most unusual fashion. The First Order has thus far denied any of the reports circulating, but our spies have confirmed that the general is dead, and First Order high command is in a frenzy. Some are blaming internal conflict, others blame ourselves."

"An independent agent with their own agenda? Or a force sensitive mercenary acting on the orders of someone wishing to benefit from an escalating war between the Resistance and the First Order?" Leia mused aloud. She glanced around high command, meeting the gaze of her old friends and colleagues, Admiral Ackbar and Vice Admiral Holdo.

Amilyn raised a decorous, thin eyebrow, the slightest smile ghosting her lips. "An independent agent acting on their own, having appeared out of nowhere? Seems an unlikely scenario. A force sensitive, no less. I think the latter more likely. The lawless cartels of the outer rim, or an arms dealer of Canto Bight--these vultures thrive in the chaos of war."

General Cypress crossed his arms as he leaned against the raised dais, regarding Amilyn with a frown. "How do you explain the death of Parkere? If the perpetrator is trying to escalate a conflict, as you say."

Her old friend merely shrugged, patting a violet strand that had fallen out of place. "A territorial dispute. Or maybe to throw us off the scent."

Although Cypress seemed posed to continue the argument, Leia felt some guidance in order. "Such speculation does little with the information at hand. Major, thank you for your report. See that we receive the results of the autopsy, and any information regarding the perpetrator. No matter how careful, a Force sensitive is not a deity. They leave traces behind as any human or humanoid. Have our spies discover what they can about the First Order's investigations into Hux's death."

While the knowledge that Ben was unlikely to have carried out these attacks brought a measure of hollow comfort, Leia's thoughts could not stay away from the unknown Force user.

Leia had long ago chosen to let her natural potential for the Force to remain fallow. Luke had been disappointed, once, when the knowledge of their blood tie was fresh, and the desire to share the lonely path of a Jedi with another had bloomed within him. On some level, Leia felt a measure of guilt for refusing to share that burden. But the knowledge that that otherworldly power latent within her stemmed from _Him_ had brought forth revulsion and fear, which could not be abated by Luke's wishes or sentiment towards a dead order. No, better to let those instincts remain mere instincts, she had long believed.

The passing of the years had a way of letting doubt creep through once iron walls of resolution, Leia noted drily, as she made her out the base toward the hangar, in search of fresh air.

There were a few young members about, pilots of Black Squadron and operations controller Kaydel Connix. She recognized Poe Dameron, the center of attention with charming smile in place as he retold an animated story to his eager listeners. Leia smiled fondly at the group, and waved off their salutes and Poe's grinning invitation to join them. She noted Jessica Pava elbowing an unrepentant Poe as she discreetly shoved a bottle behind what appeared to be a rations crate from the latest supply run. Leia opted for feigned ignorance as it was a rare down day.

The smile faded with familiar bittersweetness as their voices and laughter became only a murmur in the distance. _If I had been less a coward, could I have protected Ben?_ Would he be among them? Tolerating Poe's bravado and irrepressible humor, shyly joining in to their circle of friendship? The truth was Leia could hardly imagine the man her son would be--Ben amongst Resistance compatriots was no Force vision but mere fantasy, devised of an old woman's longings.

And now that dormant part of her being was stirring, an inscrutable warning of something on the horizon.

Leia could curse her twin. His continued absence ( _abandonment_ ) while the threat of the First Order loomed was a painful ache. _Who bears the burden alone now, brother?_

But Leia was the daughter of two queens. She would not shirk responsibility for the decision made years ago, beneath the glow of firelight, Han's smile a promise of that to come.

Alone at the flagship bearing down insurmountable odds, Leia knew not whether the decision to remain untrained had been right.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Five days later, the answer to their mystery came in a most bizarre fashion.

In the midst of conflict with the First Order, Leia was reluctant to take any time away from the Resistance base of D'Qar, but she found herself unable to say no to the unexpected summons of her estranged husband. Returning to their apartment on Chandrila was becoming more and more risky, as signs showed the planet on the verge of capitulating to the First Order's influence.

The small blue-green planet which briefly served as capital to the Galactic Senate of the New Republic and was where they raised their son, remained one of the few bright memories of their family. Summers spent frolicking at the gentle beaches with a delightfully shrieking Ben, lazy mornings making love in their expansive bed, to be interrupted by their giggling, rambunctious boy. Were there really so few of those days? Had memory clouded the bright spots in favor of Force-fueled temper tantrums, swirling maelstrom of Dark force energy, frightening displays of power, and long periods of sullen silence?

With years of regret to reflect upon her mistakes, Leia knew herself to be a poor mother. The needs of the Galaxy had often outweighed the demands of home, of her sweet, lonely boy. And now that boy had grown into a dangerous man, warped by dogma, and seemingly unburdened by restraint or conscience.

A familiar ship was parked outside their home on the landing strip, looking a bit worse for wear but in one shape--the Millennium Falcon. Leia raised both eyebrows as she passed the old girl. Han had not intimated that he had gotten the ship back, news she would have assumed would be conveyed triumphantly along with the summons.

Unsure of what sort of welcome would great her, Leia stepped through the entranceway.

A loud thudding noise and raised voices had Leia sprinting into the household proper. She was stunned into inaction, however, as the scene entered her vision.

A young woman, slight and long limbed, with a mop of messy, black curls was snarling at Han in an obviously combative pose. A low antique table, fortunately unbroken and likely the source of the thudding, was upside down on the carpet. Incredibly, a ceremonial sword she had received as a gift from the Ambassador of Utapau, was levitating at high speeds toward the young woman before landing firmly within her grasp.

"How _dare_ you," the strange girl was growling in a crisp, core accent. "I told you we needed to go back for Rey!"

Han was glancing warily between the ceremonial blade and the young woman's outstretched left hand, furled as if holding aloft some invisible energy. Between the two, Leia imagined the blade could do little damage--the tumultuous Force energy and volatile, unshielded emotions she felt emanating from the girl were much more dangerous.

"Look kid." Han had the exasperation of one repeating their point for the tenth time. "I don't know who this Rey is, but we had a First Order star destroyer on our tail. Believe me, your friend is safer with us and the First Order away from her."

The girl dropped the blade, for the first time angling toward Leia, and she was shocked to see strikingly clear blue eyes welling with helpless tears. "You don't understand. She'll think I abandoned her. Like everyone else."

Han was looking decidedly uncomfortable with this turn in conversation, almost seeming to prefer the threat of conflict over a vulnerable, crying girl. "I'm sorry kid."

"Who is she?"

Both heads swiveled so fast to face her it was nearly comical, the looks of identical shock.

While Han made an expression that was half a shrug and half an apologetic, _What are you gonna do?_ , the girl regarded Leia with a trembling lip, and something which almost seemed like... _recognition_.

Lips moved in an inaudible tone, then in a slightly louder voice. "She is my mother."

Even as her mind whirled with the implications of this Force wielding girl, Leia took in the thin cheeks, scuffed tan leggings and tunic, and purple bruising beneath those lovely sapphire eyes. "How about you sit down while I make you a plate."

At the mention of food, the young woman moved with alacrity to follow Leia into kitchen, watching eagerly as she set about making a meal for the girl, Han, and herself.

Leia wasn't much of a cook, but she could use a heating unit to fry nerfsteak, and defrost polystarch and some greens she had the kitchen droid obtain.

As the girl tore into her food, Leia gestured to Han under the guise of helping make caf. The murmur of the old fashioned percolator provided some cover for the conversation they were about to have.

The distance of the kitchen island between them, they watched as the strange girl tore into the nerfsteak, using utensils with the reluctance of one accustomed to fingers, sauce and polystarch leaving streaks on her pale cheeks. Every now and then, the girl would glance over with the look of a frightened doe, arms clenched protectively about her bowl, sapphire gaze flashing with wariness and an odd wistfulness.

"Is she Luke's?" Han ventured at last, when the silence but for the inelegant clanking of utensils was too much for him.

Those familiar blue eyes were indeed her twin reborn, and caused an ache in her soul for the brother gone missing these many years. She supposed any one else could be forgiven for such an assumption, knowing the girl's aptitude for the Force and having seen holos from the war. But how could Han miss those tremulous full lips, the mess of tangled dark curls, the Dark which shrouded her Force signature like a protective blanket of fear and anger?

"You old fool," she huffed, allowing a slight smile to take the sting of her words. "Our granddaughter sits before us, as clear as day."

A choking sound met this pronouncement, and a good five minutes were spent with Han coughing up what sounded like a lung, while Leia gamely pounded his back as best she could until the spasm resided.

"S-she's Ben's? What? How is that possible? Then, who is Rey?"

Leia shrugged. The timing of such an act was certainly odd, but not impossible. The girl was no less than fourteen years old, she gathered, slight but long limbed. While her modest curves could be explained on youth, Leia suspected a sparse diet and recent starvation were to blame. Ben would have been fourteen or fifteen when he fathered her, but who knew what had occurred around the time of his disappearance from Luke's Academy and the emergence of Kylo Ren in the First Order. As for who Rey was, the girl before them would clearly be the source of their answers.

"The how and why, I cannot say. But I can feel her in the Force. The same blood sings within her, as my own. The child of my child."

Han's face was wreathed in bewilderment, furrowed brow endowed with skepticism, as he mumbled, "All this Force mumbo jumbo." It may as well be twenty years ago, studying their son after a tantrum had sent the household droid and all contents of the kitchen levitating to the ceiling.

This time however, Leia knew that they could not afford to make mistakes. Especially considering their granddaughter already appeared to be tapping into the Dark, and seemed a prime suspect in the mysterious murders. Feeling an odd mixture of weariness and hope, Leia poured caf into three matching stoneware mugs. "I think it is time we spoke to our granddaughter."

The girl had demolished her plate in their absence, eyeing the two untouched nerfsteaks with a covetous gaze.

Lips twitching in amusement, Leia drawled, albeit gently, "Go ahead."

Leia allowed the girl to devour half the nerfsteak and polystarch before clearing her throat. "My dear. I think you know who I am."

The fork hovering midway to her mouth, stopped in its ascent, as the girl swallowed thickly. "Yes, grandmother."

Han made a startled sound, but Leia merely nodded. "And may I know your name, granddaughter?"

"Sarela."

Leia repeated it, tasting the syllables on her tongue, and smiled. "A beautiful name."

Sarela made a dissatisfied face, a rather childish expression for such a dangerous girl, that even Han cracked an amused smirk.

"You disagree?" Han queried, eyeing their granddaughter.

"It's Teedospeak for 'sorrow'."

"What language is Teedospeak?" Leia wondered, but Han was nodding suddenly in comprehension.

"It's a language spoken by a species from Jakku. That's where the Falcon was holed up all this time. Picked up a sandrat while I was there." Seemingly recovered from their fight, Han winked at the girl, who wrinkled her nose.

"Jakku!" Leia exclaimed, her mind revolting from all these threads of unrelated information. Why and how would Ben become involved with a woman from Jakku? Could she be in hiding?

"I am not a sandrat," Sarela was protesting. "I'm not from _Jakku_."

"Where _are_ you from then?"

Sarela deflated at once. "It's a long story, and you won't believe me."

Leia met Han's eyes for a moment, unable to prevent the fond smile from emerging. "Try us."

After her mouth twisted dumbly in a few contortions, the girl blurted out, "I'm from the future."

Despite her earlier assurance, Leia could not have been more surprised had the girl claimed she raised tauntauns on Hoth under the auspices of Supreme Leader Snoke. There was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and Han's mumbled, "I need a drink for this." Deciding that whether she believed the girl was the besides the point, Leia modulated her voice to careful neutrality. "How long from now?"

"Sixteen years."

_Sixteen years_. Was the war over? Did Ben ever return home? Find happiness with a partner and child?

Leia may have never trained with the Force, but she could recognize the tendrils of another mind brushing against her subconscious. It was apparent that Sarela was untrained, and while her efforts were clearly done with the intention of gentleness, Leia still winced at the clumsy execution. "Next time, just ask, my dear."

Her pale cheeks flushed a ruddy red. "I'm sorry. And I'm sorry to say you won't like most of the answers to your questions."

Leia's heart thudded into overdrive at the ominous words. She toyed with the notion of refusing all knowledge, but she brushed that concern aside now. "Tell me."

"The war ended before I was born. My mother and father were on opposite sides of it--a Jedi and the Jedi Killer. They fell in love and ran away together, tried make a life together away from the war and everyone they knew. But they were found. At the end of the war my father was put on trial." Sarela's sapphire gaze flickered to Han, who was clutching a glass of Corelian whiskey and watching their granddaughter speak with a heavy expression. "He had committed unforgivable acts, and was swiftly found guilty and ordered for execution. And my mother--". The girl's eyes filled with angry tears, the Dark swirling around her causing the kitchen appliances and surrounding knick-knacks to hover in place. "My mother was sentenced to life in prison, with myself as her hostage."

The knowledge that her son had turned away from the First Order to be with the woman he loved, only to face responsibility for crimes, brought a confusing mix of emotions--joy that he had found happiness however brief, grief and resignation for the consequences of his choices. But Leia could not deny that the quiver of anger at what befell his partner and their child was not born of the light. When she spoke, it was with the steel of the General of the Resistance, the princess of Alderaan, and the daughter of Darth Vader. "And were those responsible for this decision, Kan Miransi, Thar Forin, Silas Kaal, Leq Parkere, and Armitage Hux?"

A frightening look of grim satisfaction entered the girl's eyes. "Yes."

"Look, I don't pretend to understand any of this time travel, force business," Han broke in to the tense silence. "But I know that living your life for the sake of revenge isn't sustainable." His gruff voice was remarkably gentle when he said, "What are you going to do? How are you going to live for you?"

"It's not just revenge!" Sarela defended weakly, but the panic had returned, her fear coalescing in a spike of Force energy. "I am trying to change things. Keep Mum and Dad safe. Maybe end the war? Although honestly I don't know much about it."

Han merely shook his head and poured another shot of whiskey, but Leia was feeling a migraine setting in. "What exactly have you been up to, Sarela?" she asked slowly.

Sarela squirmed, then shot a hand out to steal Han's whiskey before swigging liberally from the bottle, Han's protests of, " _That's a good vintage!_ " gone ignored. "Nothing is going the way I thought they would! I thought if Mum and Dad met earlier, before anything happens like before, it would go better...". Sarela regarded them beseechingly, "I didn't know what he would be like...Mum told me how much they loved each other."

Her head was definitely pounding now. "Sarela. What. Did. You. Do?"

"I told Dad to come find Mum," Sarela was answering in a small voice. "Well, and me, since I went to Jakku next. I explained about the time travel, and how they had me in the future."

Leia exchanged uneasy glances with Han at this revelation. As much as Leia loved and would continue to love her son, the idea of _Kylo Ren_ , or worse, _Snoke_ , having knowledge of his force wielding, time traveling daughter and apparent Jedi lover could only fill her with trepidation.

Han seemed to be considering these same concerns, voicing cautiously, "And they believed you?"

"Dad, yes, eventually. He said he would come for me, and Rey. I wasn't really worried until I met Mum...she didn't seem to believe me at all. Thought I was sick or crazy, but she was kind to me, and shared her portions. But don't you see? Father is coming for her and she doesn't believe any of it! I need to go back to Jakku first!" Sarela jumped to her feet in agitation, seized anew by urgency.

Given the nature of her revelations, however, Leia was not inclined to disagree. Still, Leia did not become General of the Resistance by making hasty decisions derived from emotion. "Sarela, believe me, I truly understand your desire to intervene with your parents. But you must understand the danger you are in. You admit to committing five high profile murders of individuals which will gain you the scrutiny of the Resistance, Republic and First Order, all undoubtably investigating these deaths--" The girl was opening her mouth in indignant passion, but Leia powered through her arguments. " _Furthermore_ , you _know_ your father is part of the First Order, in a conflict morally and militarily at odds with the interests of the Resistance and Galaxy. We cannot engage with your father without knowing more. Approaching Rey now could put her in more danger."

"I promised I would never let anyone hurt her again!" Furious tears streamed down pale cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them, instead gripping the table with white knuckles. "They weren't the first I've killed."

Grief and rage permeated the space in a suffocating cloud of Force energy. Leia struggled to keep the foreign emotions from overcoming her shields, the one skill she had accepted Luke's tutelage. Even Han, silent to the Force's web, looked unsettled by the outpouring. "Sarela," she called the girl cautiously, as one might a spooked fathier.

"They weren't the first." Sarela's voice was flat, looking passed Han and Leia into a nightmare only she was privy. "I killed the guards. Their thoughts were known to me, you see. So very disappointed their Jedi whore was no longer around for their entertainment. ' _She spread her legs for a murderer, let's show her a better man_.' Their deaths were slow, and painful."

A child, Leia marveled, stunned into silence as tears dripped unheeded down her own cheeks. Nothing their granddaughter had revealed of her life had been gentle, but the horror of it struck her anew. By her side, Han let out a deep breath, equally reeling from the suffering Sarela and her mother had endured. "Sarela," she repeated, voice reedy and weary and _old_. _I am old_ , Leia was reminded. "Sarela look at me, please."

After a very long moment, the catatonic girl shifted to meet her eyes, something helpless and overwhelming bubbling within those sapphire depths. "I-I-".

Leia's feet were moving and around the table, arms around the slight girl before her mind processed the thought. Pulled the girl tight to chest, hand moving in a soothing gesture across her back as sobs wracked her frame.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Hours later Leia and Han remained in the kitchen, relieved with the knowledge that Sarela was receiving some much needed rest in a guest chamber.

The girl had needed little convincing to sleep after the cathartic tears spent wrapped in Leia's embrace. _How often has that girl been comforted? Been hugged or cherished?_

Leia had moved to a plane beyond weariness, she felt it heavy in her bones. In the silence that stretched between them, she studied his familiar, rugged face. Han had gone silver years ago, but there were new lines across furrowed brow, mouth accustomed to smirking, and crinkling about the eyes for those private, gentle smiles he would wear just for her. Leia knew herself to have weathered the years no better. Time was a cruel mistress, stripping her of youth and beauty, until only the sharpened steel of her mind was left to course the times ahead.

"See something you like, sweetheart?"

The weak smile belied the forced flirtatious tone, but Leia felt a flood of affection for her husband's awkward attempts to distract her. "Perhaps," she drawled, and like Han, the bantering tone lacked conviction.

And yet Han still flashed her that ridiculous charming smile as if she were a girl of 19 again, that once had her flustered and aroused despite her better sense. Those years were long gone, but Leia was not immune to the stirrings of the flesh, and after the revelations of the day, she was in need of comfort. "Stay?"

She saw hesitation war with temptation, the open wound of their son gaping before them. _What of me?_ she wanted to scream. _What of my pain?_ He would leave, as he had time and time again.

And then those weathered eyes softened, crinkled with something like love and desire. "I'll stay as long as you want me, Princess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is allusion to rape in the paragraph starting from "They weren't the first." It is only mentioned in this paragraph, so you could skip it.


	3. The Enforcer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been agonizing over my edits and falling asleep on top of my ipad for the last few days but I've finally decided to just post this chapter. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint/isn't terrible. ;)

General Hux was as pale and colorless in death as in life.

One might even say death was an improvement.

In life, the General's face had been perpetually cast in a sniveling look of disdain, as if torn between rage and pissing himself in fear. But perhaps this reaction was limited to Kylo's company, and dependent upon the amount of pressure he applied to the man's larynx.

In death, the General was reedlike and unimposing, empty of the mad fanaticism and singleminded ruthlessness that made him useful to the Supreme leader and distasteful to Kylo. Dressed in plain, dark sleep clothes, he was merely a man of no importance.

Kylo would shed no tear over his passing. In fact, a rebellious feeling of satisfaction coursed through his being. _Good riddance._

He rose to his feet in a fluid motion, nodding to the stormtroopers watching the scene passively beneath identical white helmets. "Check the security footage, and send the body for an autopsy. The Supreme Leader requires a full investigation to be conducted."

As he swept from Hux's private chambers, the former general's right hand woman, Phasma, clad in chrome armor, flanked his steps to his mild irritation. "Sir, shall you be overseeing the investigation personally?"

In order that he may personally reward the perpetrator? "That won't be necessary. My priority is finding the map to Skywalker. However I expect updates throughout the investigation. The security footage should reveal all persons within the vicinity. A lock down of all flights in and out of the Finalizer has been put into effect. Anyone capable of murdering the General could set their sights on other targets. An expeditious capture is demanded."

"It shall be done at once, sir."

As the clanking of stormtrooper boots and helmet modulated voices fell away, leaving only the swirl of his black cloak and own heavy tread to break the stillness of the corridor, Kylo felt the first stirrings of another Force signature breach his senses.

Kylo stilled at once, instinctively reaching out with the Force to trace the unfamiliar Force signature. It had been years since Kylo had felt the pull of another Force sensitive other than Snoke, not since the Supreme Leader had ordered him to fight the Knights of Ren, cutting down the last of his fellow Padawans. As usual, the memory of being forced to kill those who chose to side with him that day, brought stirrings of guilt and pain. In a nearly automatic response, Kylo funneled his pain into the Dark side, searching through the void until he collided with another presence.

She is tired and fierce and so very angry. Beneath it, satisfaction for a job complete oozes with the malevolence of the Dark. She is wounded, worry undercuts the vicious pleasure and her thoughts wander to something warm and safe, something like love. _Mum_. With the fuzzy, heart-shaped face of a woman with unclear features but for bright, hazel eyes, light glimmers through the darkness, just the slightest bit. Her next objective is clear--she must find him. No, _he is here_.

Suddenly Kylo was ejected from the foreign mind, reeling from the perfunctory ejection and the odd synchronicity of the girl's presence in the Force. His helmet felt stifling, suffocating. Kylo wrenched off the helmet with trembling hands, barely suppressing the desire to vomit as he took deeply quelling breaths. Who was this girl? This girl, untrained but powerful in the Force. And her power--derived from the Dark but shot through with Light. The parallels to himself were too obvious to be overlooked...

With renewed purpose, Kylo pulled up the mobile holopad strapped to his wrist, quickly scanning schematics of his current location on the Finalizer. A satisfied grunt left him as his hunch was confirmed. There were ventilation shafts running concurrent to the corridor, a likely hiding spot for Hux's murderer and his query.

For obviously the source of the Force disturbance was also responsible for that man's death. Kylo did not believe in coincidence. If it was destiny that drew his Uncle's blade over a sleeping Ben Solo, sending him spiraling toward the Dark, then it was destiny that led Kylo Ren to this rogue force user now.

_Yes. Here!_ Kylo came to an abrupt stop, pausing before an unremarkable wall. As he drew his crackling lightsaber, Kylo was careful to mask his presence. Untrained as he suspected the other force user to be, Kylo hoped to catch the girl off guard. Then, never one for subtlety, in a quick movement, Kylo pierced the wall with his saber.

A sharp spike of panic and fear not his own overwhelmed his senses, and with a slight smile, Kylo waved his non-saber wielding hand in a lazy gesture, freezing the girl into a force hold. Untrained she may be, but the girl was powerful, as powerful as he himself. She fought the force hold tooth and nail, nearly shaking Kylo's ironclad control. Still, he had no animosity toward the girl, no desire to hurt her. Focusing his mind into calm resolve, Kylo drew on the well of power within him, and shouldered through her attempts, at last finishing to cut through the durasteel and duroplast walls to reveal the girl within.

But when his gaze fell upon her, the floor beneath his feet shattered, and with it his control of the Force.

A young woman, of slender frame and lanky form, watched him from beneath sooty lashes contrasting against alabaster skin dotted with freckles. Curls of the same shade were pulled into an odd styling of three buns, which revealed slightly large ears.

Although released from his force hold, she merely hovered before him, worrying a pouting lip between her teeth.

It wasn't possible. The notion was absurd obviously. There was no way this girl could be his. Kylo Ren had discarded the weak boy who cowered before his uncle, but there was some habits of that previous life that remained with him. The life of a Jedi had demanded celibacy, and Kylo Ren had continued the acetic lifestyle, foregoing the desires of the flesh which held little appeal to him.

And yet, the girl before him bore an uncanny resemblance to his teenage self. She was an imperfect copy, with softer, feminine features, like a portrait of his former self done by a flattering artist.

But for those eyes. Luke's eyes.

A half sister, his conscious suggested wildly. Han's indiscretion proving at last his insane maneuverability of the Falcon came from a latent force sensitivity. Or perhaps his parents tried for a second child after the failure of the first, hidden away from the public eye and Snoke's interference.

Both absurd notions, but surely more likely than this?

And then she opened her mouth.

"You didn't have to do that."

Did this girl actually have the gall to scold him, Master of the Knights of Ren, Jedi Killer, Enforcer of the Supreme Leader, heir to Darth Vader? "I beg your pardon?"

The furrowed brow and lips twisted in displeasure, reminded him so viscerally of his mother, Kylo felt his tooth sting from the force of his grinding.

"I was _coming_ to you."

Frazzled and wishing for the anonymity of his mask, Kylo raised his left hand and intoned evenly, "You will tell me who you are and confess your actions on the Finalizer and further plans."

The girl rolled her eyes as if she found him beyond stupid. "You could just ask. I'm Sarela."

Given the strength in the Force she had exhibited thus far, Kylo had not expected the compulsion to work, but what was truly rankling was how her attitude was just so... _adolescent_. "Well then, Sarela, how did you infiltrate the Finalizer--"

"You look younger than I expected. They always make you out to be some kind of monster. Larger than life, more beast than man. But looking at you now, I can see why mum fell for you."

There was a great deal to untangle from the girl's appalling lack of awareness of their circumstances, but as he acclimated to the shock of their encounter, Kylo was reminded that their current location was dangerously exposed. Any conversation between them would require a more secure locale, such as the privacy of his chambers. Nodding brusquely with the full expectation of being obeyed, he commanded "Come," before turning on his heel.

No true invisibility could be conjured with the Force, but the energy could be manipulated to repel the gaze of others. First Order personnel often felt the compulsion to scurry away from his company under normal circumstances, and with the repulsion in effect, there were few to encounter them as they hurried with long strides to his chamber.

As they paced, Kylo was aware of the tendrils of her presence, curious and light footed as she prodded at the repulsion he had in place. _Sarela_ , he reminded himself. Kylo kept his gaze ahead, once again shrouded by his mask, but he was aware of her intense scrutiny, something like longing and wistfulness and curiosity conveyed with and without the Force.

A face unable to hide the currents of her emotions, Kylo noted. If a small part of him acknowledged their likeness in this regard, he pushed those whispers to the side.

After entering the black and silver chambers that he occupied upon the Finalizer, Sarela wandered about like a visiting loth-cat, running questionably clean fingers over a row of identical black robes hanging in the closet, upending his desk drawers to poke around his calligraphy set, and throwing herself, shoes on, his silk black sheets. She was about to fidget with the bar code of the adjacent alcove, when Kylo, miraculously, awoke from the state of horrified paralyzation, somehow free of any force hold, to grasp her hand in a firm grip. "Are you finished yet?"

Sarela, to his amazement, lowered her gaze with an almost chastised air. "I'm sorry. I was just excited to see how you live."

_Who exactly was this girl?_

"You know who I am," she whispered. All traces of levity had vanished from those expressive, blue eyes. Again, Kylo did not need the Force to sense her longing. She was an ocean of loneliness starved for belonging and connection. The Dark within him snarled with the cloying vitriol of Snoke, _you hurt everyone who has ever loved you. Send this foolish child away before you destroy her as well._ But the Light cracked through the howling to whisper, _she is yours to love and protect._

He swallowed thickly. "It's not possible."

"Father--"

"It's not possible," he repeated again, weakly, but with little conviction.

Within a blink of an eye, Sarela was crashing into him bodily, an assault he took less with stoicism than stupor. It had been so long since another being had touched him with anything other than violence. It took several heartbeats of her tearful, shaking form clutching him in a tenacious grip before it occurred to him--this was a hug. He was being embraced by his daughter.

"Sarela." He could hear the wonder in his own voice, as he raised his arms hesitantly to wrap around her smaller frame.

o-o-o-o-o-o

"Time travel."

"Yes!" Sarela threw up her hands in a gesture of exasperation, sending the objects upon his desk flying towards the ceiling in a perilous trajectory. A bacta patch secured on her upper arm and a pile of ration bars scattered at her side, Sarela was happily sprawled across his bed, or had been before this latest eruption.

Kylo stretched a hand and with a flick of his wrist, slowed the descent of his person items before they could cause any real destruction, bringing them back to his desk. Not that it was surprising his daughter would be as prone to childish outbursts in the form of destruction, but Kylo had to admit it was sobering to be on the receiving end.

"Somewhere Leia and Han are laughing themselves into an aneurism," he muttered darkly. He ran his fingers through his hair, unable to resist the the urge to pull on the scalp to relieve his growing tension headache. The almost pleasurable, pinching pain, helped focus his scattered thoughts. Aloud, he continued, "Darth Plagueis only hinted at the possibility of falling to a past timeline by harnessing the Force." Sarela, face smushed against his silk encased sleeping pillow, murmured some words while munching on a ration bar, but Kylo ignored her. "He favored research on perpetuating his own life force, and his comments on time travel were only speculative. No Sith, or any force user for that matter, has attempted it before."

Sarela, ration bar completed, chose to interrupt him with unimpeded mouth. "That you _know_ of. If they fall to the past, they didn't necessarily blab to everyone they met."

Kylo couldn't help a smirk and raised eyebrow at that. "Unlike you, you meant?"

A slight flush overcame her fair cheeks. "I haven't been blabbing! In any case what does it matter what some dried up Sith Lord thinks? He didn't travel in time, _I_ did!"

"Not much of a scholar, are you?"

She shrugged. "School was boring. Lots of dry memorization and glorifying the Galactic Republic. I preferred doing things, whenever that was allowed. Hostages don't have a lot of freedom."

A black rage momentarily blocked out all other thought at the reminder of how his daughter and mother of his child were treated. Kylo needed no further persuasion of the necessity of eradicating that institution. Although, he reminded himself, feeling both pride and disappointment, Sarela had already dispatched with the perpetrators of that farce.

With a sigh, he told his unlikely daughter, "You need a teacher. Your lack of control is appalling. Mentally burning anyone who dares intrude upon your mind may be effective, but actual shields are more efficient. How you managed to get on the Finalizer and murder Hux before anyone caught you can only be the result of Force intercession."

"You want to teach me?"

Kylo couldn't decide whether to be angry or amused at the patently skeptical tone and arched brow. "Did you have someone else in mind?"

"Well, _no_ , but I've been learning so far by the just-do-it-method. It's been going pretty well, I think."

"I'm starting to feel offended."

Sarela chewed her lower lip. Curiosity and interest were emanating from her presence, which gave Kylo hope, but those emotions were undercut with a worrying string of unease. Something was clearly bothering the girl, but the currents of her emotions were slippery and indistinct. As soon as she noticed his attention to her projected emotions, Sarela pulled her presence away with a jerk. "How would that even work. I'd be your apprentice? Or _his_?" There was no mistaking the fear and revulsion that colored her voice on the last syllable.

Ah, that was the crux of the matter. "The Supreme Leader is wise," the words slipped passed his lips automatically, if half-heartedly. Kylo had not given much thought to the logistics of such an arrangement, in fact, he had hardly given his master much thought since hiding the girl in his chambers and ignoring the numerous summons from his neglected com.

The realization was unsettling. Fear, irrational and instinctual, prickled his neck at this unusual divergence from duty. Such rebellion stunk of the boy, Ben Solo, and the conniving light. But fear summoned the Dark side like a comforting shroud, cloaking his thoughts in silken words, _She will be magnificent by your side, already she is called to the Dark. Snuff out the light within her and within yourself._ Become unchained. Kylo ignored the slight queasiness the words brought about, and made himself speak confidently, with conviction. "The Supreme Leader has guided me through the Darkness when all else abandoned me. He would make you strong."

Sarela's gaze was all too knowing. "Would he?"

Kylo stood abruptly from his desk chair, treading across the room to face the viewport. Leather gloves and jaw clenched as he sightlessly took in empty space and star clusters in the distance. Sarela had mostly glossed over the details of her future timeline, limiting the recitation to details concerning her life, the events surrounding her birth, and time travel. It was a clusterfuck alone attempting to untangle the knowledge that he would choose to abandon the First Order to be with a Jedi and father a child, let alone the repercussions on the ongoing war and the implications toward his loyalty to his master. Kylo knew Sarela had left a great deal out, obviously, but found himself reluctant to know more.

"Dad?" Her voice was small and trembling, tight with fear, from close behind him.

It would be so easy to give in to the maelstrom of fear and rage, upend the desk with force energy, smash his fist into the viewport until he felt numb, slash the bed with his saber until only a blackened husk remained--drive terror into his daughter's eyes. Make her fear him. Make her hate him.

But instead Kylo allowed the silence to continue, unmoving but for the harsh exhale that shuddered through his chest and shook his shoulders.

"Darth Plague got one thing wrong you know."

"Darth Plagueis," he corrected before Sarela's words quite processed through his brain. The return to the previous conversation had Kylo off-tilt, his rage and panic ebbing under his daughter's defiant, shining eyes. It did not escape his notice that her Force signature was a warm glow of golden light.

Sarela affected an exaggerated eye roll, but there was a tremulous quality to her smile. "Darth Pajamas called it a fall. But he was wrong."

There was a part of Kylo that rebelled against her obvious distraction technique, yet found himself softening at her irreverence. "How was he wrong?"

"I never fell, I _leapt_."

Kylo frowned, despite himself curious. "What's the difference?"

"I didn't trip over the stairs by accident. It wasn't a mistake or a lapse in judgement. _I did what I had to do_." There was passion, desperation, undercutting the steel of her words, blunting the edge with uncertainty.

It was an eerie thing, seeing himself in Luke's eyes. Had he not thought the same, once? Face and knees bloodied, pain wracking his broken frame, the sweet release of giving in to the Dark impulses once decried by all around him, Snoke's sibilant, fatherly croon, _I told you they would betray you_.

"It was a tool, power within easy reach. And the light pains you for it," he noted, watching as comprehension dawned, and then the color drain from her face.

But Sarela shook her head in agitation, fists clenched at her side. "I don't even know what that means!"

Kylo stalked forward until he was towering over the girl. "No? But I think you feel it," he said slowly. "There is only one solution. You must snuff out the light, seal yourself to the Dark."

The words belonged to Snoke. They were truth, a grim one no doubt. He, who had teetered on the edge between light and darkness all his life, could recognize the same conflict brewing within his daughter. _Like father, like daughter. Weak and clinging to the false promises of the light_.

He should bring Sarela before his Master.

He should answer the numerous coms from Phasma, no doubt seething in stoic fashion.

He should march her in triumph to the Supremacy, a dark daughter of the lineage of Vader.

And yet, he did nothing. Even as he stood before the precipice, earth crumbling beneath his boots.

No, he was not ready to present his daughter to his Master, the Master who took him in when his family abandoned him, who shaped and guided him to accept the Darkness within him.

Kylo could not analyze that thought deeply without a throbbing pain he associated with his Master's presence, shuddering through his being.

But what option did that leave him?

The girl watched him in avid silence, as if in unspoken understanding of the crisis he was undergoing.

"Sarela, you must leave. I will help you escape undetected, but you must go to your mother."

She jumped off his bed, sending ration bars and bedding scattering to the floor. "What about you?"

Kylo shook his head, and gripped her shoulders firmly as he met her eyes. "I'll come when I can. They are searching for Hux's murderer. I must stay behind to ensure that no evidence of your existence remains."

She seemed to accept this, albeit reluctantly. "And then? What shall you do?"

"I shall come for you and your mother." Decision made, Kylo imbued his words with the decisiveness of a promise. Once he had secured Sarela's safety and matters with the First Order, he would go to his family. Yes, and then he would make Snoke understand. Surely his Master would accept that this was the destiny awaiting him?

His daughter was sniffing, eyes suspiciously wet. "Rey."

"What?"

"Mother's name is Rey."

A ray of light. How fitting.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Many hours later, Kylo, having done what he must to protect his unexpected family, succumbed to the bittersweet relief of unconsciousness.

The nightmares came first, as they always do. Shadowy figures and eldritch voices, a malevolence pressing against his throat to choke the breath from him, the acrid stench of ozone and death, a bright blue saber cutting through small forms, the temple burning.

And Kylo is there, beneath the relentless downpour, at the mercy of _her_ stricken gaze. One of his men moves, a nearly imperceptible blur of black into the darkness, but Kylo does not hesitate, does not require the cumbersome senses of the Force-blind. The Force guides his blade to sear through cloth and flesh and bone. And She looks at him, surprised and no less wary.

_It is you_.

It is the same face that has haunted his dreams, often fierce, sometimes tender, in clashes of violence, in the throes of passion.

The crackle of a blade, the pulse of an erratic heartbeat, flesh parting beneath the untender mercy of a saber, or slickly giving way to a gloved hand--pleasure and pain melding until one is unrecognizable without the other.

Kylo knew this dance, has dreamed it, has longed for it.

But something is different.

Another presence, hazy as a torch reflected on moving water, brushes his mind.

Warmth and pleasure, rage and violence. The emotions evoked by his dreams seem tenfold entangled in the other's mind. In _Her_ mind.

The dreamscape splinters, the rough edges of her thoughts buffet Kylo in a tempest of confusion. They are hurtling toward a precipice that all of Kylo's being longs for--he knows instinctually the fall will be his undoing.

And when it comes the devastation carries a promise.

_Ah, it_ is _you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh...was that some weird allusion to Force dream sex? **Hides**
> 
> You may notice the change in tense from past to present in the dream sequence. It is purposeful, and hopefully not too jarring.
> 
> I'm playing fast and loose with the Force here. If I don't know how something works in the Star Wars universe that isn't answered by Wookipedia or a google search, I tend to just make it up. That said, Leia tells Han in the Return of the Jedi that she always knew that Luke was her brother (she probably should rewatch a NH and ESB to remind herself of the number of times she kissed him ;) ), so I am banking on family connection and mutual Force abilities to explain how Sarela/Kylo and Sarela/Leia were able to sense their connection
> 
> I think it's going to be a week before I post the next chapter (finally, we get Rey's perspective next), since I want to work on my other fic.
> 
> Thank you :)


	4. The Scavenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter. RL has been difficult lately.  
> I hope the length somewhat makes up for the delay...

When Rey was seven years old, she came down with the Fever.

After traversing the narrow confines of the cooling system of an Imperial class Star Destroyer, Rey had found her return path grown treacherous from the ravages of wind and sand. She had been forced to make the perilous return journey on the blistering outer surface, scrambling for cubbyholes and praying to R'ia that her strength would not falter until she could find the safety of ground beneath her feet. Rey's memory of that return journey was fogged by the passage of time and the Fever which began its virulent effects upon her blood.

Mashra later told her that the Fever raged for five cycles, while her feverish body was unable to take down more than mouthfuls of broth infused with seeds from the spinebarrel, a local remedy. As the fever coursed through her veins, Rey had recalled memories and fantasies alike, the line between them so blurred even now Rey knew not which contained truth. It was then she first recalled a voice from what felt another life, murmuring tenderly, "I'll come back sweetheart, I promise."

Rey had waited everyday of the last thirteen years for the owner of that voice to return. On her darkest days, she had silenced the flicker of doubt which wondered whether those tender words had been merely a product of illness.

After the girl with eyes as clear and blue as the skies of Jakku midday, and pouty lips as red as blood spilt on sandstone had disappeared without a trace, Rey wondered whether she had dreamt her up like a fever phantom.

_She called me Mother_ , Rey recalled.

Nonsense, of course, lending credence to the girl being merely a product of too much sun and an existence sustained on rations, and that not on a daily basis. Rey was untouched as a princess in wait of marriage, so much good it did her.

Her virginity was less a result of modesty, such as the strict codes of morality espoused by the tribes of the Plaintive Hand, who valued female virginity as a virtue due to the low male to female ratio and fears of incest. No, Rey was more concerned with protecting herself from unwanted attention than finding pleasure in the arms of dubious partners.

And yet, Sarela had felt as real as the calluses on her work-weathered hands. Her narrow nose, and sharp cheekbones had mirrored Rey's own. Jumbled explanations of the _Force_ and _time travel_ aside, Rey could almost believe that the girl had spoken the truth. Her family had returned at last. In the most unlikely manner possible.

Real or imagined, however, there was no denying the girl was gone.

Rey had hardened her heart against this very thing years ago. When a tentative voice inside wondered if the girl could have been hurt, fallen down a ravine or sunk into the Sinking Fields of the badlands, Rey told herself sternly to focus upon her survival and not fantasies.

Despite those efforts, however, for that night and those that followed, stomach filled with a paltry portion, Rey found her steps tracing the paths they had crossed, eyeing the brothel of Niima Outpost, listening to gossip from the traders and scavengers.

On the second day of Sarela's disappearance, a peculiar rumor caught Rey's attention.

Unkar Plutt, junklord of Niima Outpost, was said to be in a foul mood over the theft of an ancient freighter, and had been giving subpar portions all morning. The theft was believed to be the work of two offworlders, witnessed arguing with the Junklord that same afternoon as the purported theft. Rey could not see any obvious connection between the theft and Sarela, but her ears perked up nonetheless to hear the curious story, particularly when it came to the meat of the rumors.

"I heard that garbage ship was actually the Millennium Falcon," an aged scavenger named Trl was murmuring with unusual animation. The surly scavenger was taciturn by nature, but the rumor of the Millennium Falcon had a flurry excitement running through the Outpost.

" _The_ Millennium Falcon? Really?" Even Rey could not help but voice her wistfulness. Every scavenger had heard of the Falcon, and the exploits of its dastardly pilot, the former smuggler turned Rebellion General Han Solo and his partner-in-crime, Chewbacca.

Another scavenger, a humanoid of uncertain origin by the name Singate, who was more prone to giving Rey a lascivious and crude suggestions than to making polite conversation, nonetheless shook his head in an wondering fashion. "That's the rumor. Looks like Plutt's nest egg was stolen, but what he hoped to get for it we'll never know." 

"It's hard to believe the ship that made the Kessel Run in 14 parsecs was under our noses all this time..."

Rey let the words wash over her, caught in an uncharacteristic daze as she wandered back to her speeder.

Sarela. The Force. Time Travel. Now the Millennium Falcon.

It was as if all the far-fetched stories she lapped up with eager ears in her childhood were coming to life.

A small part of Rey, which longed for family, connection, purpose beyond salvaging scrap for sustenance, had always wished to be a part of something bigger. Foolish though the desire was, Rey could feel a tremulous spark of hope pushing against the hardened layers of survival and pragmatism.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Rey is running.

The why and where are immaterial, less important than the taste and stench of fear, clouding her senses and giving flight to booted feet accustomed to sand. The sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears gives way just enough to reveal her surroundings--a dense forest, lush and verdant. But the beauty does not slow her feet. She does not dare, not when _he_ is chasing her.

The monster in a mask.

She can her him crashing through the underbrush, lumbering and yet menacingly undeterred, the crackling of his crimson blade making quick work of branches growing ever louder.

And suddenly the world shifts and he is there, crackling saber beneath her chin, hairs breadth from scorching delicate flesh, and his voice is in her ear or mind, _You know I can take what I want_.

Despite the threatening words and her earlier terror, Rey feels a frisson of excitement course through her veins at that deep timber.

A leather glove is pushing down her basics, parting sopping folds in a lazy gesture then bringing a finger to circle her sensitive nub. Rey bucks into the hand, little helpless whimpers escaping her lips as the leather rubs against her, abrasive and slick with her fluids. The deep voice is there again, chuckling into her ear with surprising warmth. "You are so wet for me, Scavenger. Excited to know how it feels to be fucked by a monster?"

There is the press of a clothed bulge against her naked backside, rubbing deliberately while the leather glove fucks inside her entrance.

A voice that Rey recognizes as her own lets out a deep moan before gasping, "Shut up and fuck me already. Or put your mouth to a better use."

His chuckle is reverberating in Rey's ears as yet another shift occurs. Suddenly she is fully naked, _they are fully naked_ , legs wrapped above impossibly broad shoulders as he moves deeply within her. A man with dark hair and indistinct features mumbling obscenities as his thick cock stretches her open, plush lips latched on a nipple, devouring her whole like a ship caught in a singularity.

Rey clings to him, a spinebarrel pulled by an east wind, helpless to the pleasure that only he can give her.

When she comes, a wave building toward an uncertain shoreline, white hot pleasure courses through her being, and Rey wakes.

o-o-o-o-o-o

A sticky residue within one of the two basics Rey owned, was an unpleasant return to the waking world. With a shrug, Rey shimmied out of the pair, left only in a large tunic that functioned as her sleepwear, surveying the early dawn light which filtered into the AT-AT. Though the state of her basics was sufficient indication of the nature of her dream, Rey found a hand moving between her legs, parting the slick folds in imitation of her dream lover, imagining the leather gloved hand stimulating her clitoris while thick gloved fingers pushed inside her. Rey could not quite replicate the feel of the rough leather, but high from her orgasm and the erotic imagery, it did not take much to have her climaxing again.

As the vestiges of sleep fell away, Rey felt a flicker of embarrassment over the unusual dream, and her reaction to it. Surely her subconscious could not summon such vivid images based only on the words of a wayward girl's fantastic claims, without having experienced any physical intimacy to provide a basis for such a lover.

It was difficult to reconcile the mysterious lover, at once frightening monster and object of desire, as a mere product of her imagination. No, Rey realized, thoughts skipping over the dream, it felt too real to be only a dream. _He_ felt too real.

But even this revelation lost its clarity under the harsh glare of Jakku's sun, as Rey went through the very necessary motions of searching for salvage worthy of portions, merely another day to be endured.

Sweat pooled beneath the protective helmet in the punishing heat, only to evaporate when Rey removed it. Taking a reprieve under a shadowed awning of a much less preserved AT-AT, Rey took conservatives sips from her canteen, already nearing its end at midday.

Rey had minor success this morning, her haul sufficient for the day's portions and including a small part she hoped would be useful in repairing the ventilation system of her AT-AT. Jakku nights could drop to chilly temperatures, but in the evenings a day spent baking in the sun drew at times dangerously high temperatures in her living quarters. Bringing in cooler air was a must.

Despite her satisfaction, Rey could not help a strange unease settling in her gut as she rode her speeder toward Niima Outpost. The feeling was quite different from the time she tried knockback nectar or ate a spoiled portion when she was a child. Being unable to pinpoint the source of her discomfort, only prickled Rey's temper from her typical stoicism to downright surliness as she traded for portions. Unkar Plutt watched her with beady eyes and disdainful air, but otherwise did not comment on the attitude.

The feeling only increased as she trudged back towards her speeder, instinct speeding her legs to be away from the outpost as soon as possible.

Rey had only just swung a leg over the speeder, when pandemonium broke.

A command shuttle was descending rapidly toward the outpost, with a speed that suggested an unfriendly encounter was in the making. The ship was a thing of beauty, black wings and gleaming durasteel formed into exquisite ebony dread--Rey did not need to have ever left Jakku to recognize the aesthetic of the First Order.

He was here.

Somehow Rey knew it without a doubt.

The survival instincts which had kept Rey alive for the last thirteen years alone, demanded that she turn tail and run. Back to the Hellhound, away to the Graveyard to hole up in one of the many wrecks, or further out, toward the Plaintive Hand to hideaway with the tribes.

But Rey knew that none of those actions would be more than a brief respite--and provided no protection for the denizens of Niima Outpost, for whom if she bore no love, deserved better than being mowed down as blasterfodder. He did not seem to be a man who would let others stand in his way between what he believed was _his_.

Rey would meet him directly.

Stormtroopers poured from the ship in pristine white plastoid armor, blasters cocked warily as they fanned into formation, a silent threat of violence to those who would deter their task. Those still remaining in sight after the ship properly landed, fled into the closest establishments, tavern and brothel and salvage cleaning tent, or cowered in place. 

And within their intimidating midst, _he_ emerged.

As black and forbidding as the command shuttle behind him, he towered over the troopers draped in a long hooded cowl over the same helmet from her dream. He marched with heavy, deliberate steps down the ramp and passed the troopers, who moved to flank their leader with alacrity. However, the man paused, raising a fist that had troopers and those of the outpost alike holding a breath in uneasy anticipation.

Across the sandy expanse of the outpost, Rey was rooted in place as that inhuman mask rose slowly to fixate on herself. _He knows me_.

Time was suspended for Rey, and those around her, she supposed, as the man crossed the sands at an unhurried pace.

Even if she _had_ determined not to run, Rey was nothing if not proud. The tilt of her chin to meet the masked man necessitated by his absurd height, was imbued with all her innate defiance.

And then he spoke, a distorted rasp that only faintly hinted at a warm, heady voice.

"Rey. The girl I've heard so much about."

Surprise must have shown on her face, for he gave a low laugh. It was _unsettling_...to witness a human emotion from such an inhuman form. Irked by his amusement, Rey arched a brow, returning waspishly, "I cannot say it is pleasure when greeted by a creature in a mask."

Although Rey had spoken provocatively mostly out of anger, there was a long pause, and his large, gloved hands were reaching upward to grasp his helmet. There was slight hiss of the helmet releasing, then his hands and helmet fell away. And Rey drank him in.

His sensitive face was a contradiction of strong brows, sturdy, uneven nose, and plush lips and soulful dark eyes. From her dream (and Rey blushed anew as she recalled the configuration of their bodies in that particular moment), Rey had had a vague notion of dark hair and pale skin, but now standing before her, his lustrous locks demanded caresses or a fistful should the urge take her, and Rey felt the compulsion to bruise his lower lip in a biting kiss, especially as they twisted into a satisfied smirk at her frank appraisal. The double urges of violence and lust were potent, and a frightening combination simmering beneath her skin, but for the moment, anger was the easier hilt to grasp.

"Am I to be your prisoner then?" Rey jerked her head toward the troopers, standing at a slight remove from their position, as if as wary of their leader as any threat Rey offered.

"I would prefer the term guest."

Undistorted by the vocoder, his voice was a pleasant baritone she could easily imagine slipping into a lower, sinful register. "As your _guest_ , am I permitted to refuse to accompany you?"

Amusement vanished from the planes of his angular face. "That would not be wise." Though the words were even, tension radiated from his shoulders, and he seemed to be studying her frame speculatively in terms of the likelihood he could successfully haul her bodily to his ship. At last he entreated, " _Rey_ , I cannot protect you by leaving you here."

"I've been protecting myself just fine for the past thirteen years. I don't need a man whose name I don't even know to take care of me."

"You don't...Sarela didn't tell you?"

"Our acquaintance was cut short." Rey's mind was whirling over the implications of his knowledge of the girl, but her thoughts were cut off by his frantic question.

"Where is she? She left Jakku?"

From the patented concern shifting across those expressive eyes, he clearly cared for the girl whose outlandish tale claimed them for her parents. "You believed her story?" Rey asked slowly.

"You do not? Even after last night's dream?"

"That--" her face was flushing scarlet, she knew. "You saw that? But how--"

"You don't know..." As if seizing an opportunity, he pressed on "I will explain this and more. Come with me, if only to search for Sarela together. I know you felt it too, the connection. She is our daughter."

Rey thought of cornflower eyes overflowing with tears and tremulous lips mouthing _Mum, I'll never let anyone hurt you again_. Oh, realization dawned, she looks just like him. "You can find her?" she asked reluctantly. "And you'll bring me back as soon as I say so?"

"Of course." His response was swift, as if to offset any retraction. "If you still want to, that is," he amended.

At last, Rey nodded her accent.

With Rey's agreement secured, he moved with unsurprising swiftness to have them away from Jakku. What did surprise Rey, was the offer to stop at her AT-AT for her belongings before departing. Rey, who had nothing of value and little of the sentimental, refused the courtesy given her trusty staff already on her person and best pair of basics on her body. It did not hurt that the refusal would deny the man knowledge of the location of her home.

After being led into the command shuttle by an escort of four stormtroopers, Rey found herself alone ensconced within a private chamber. A large bed with black silk sheets, neatly made, a minimalist desk and closet and attached, small, but luxurious fresher met her inspection. Everything was black and silver and clean. _Hard to guess who this room belongs to_ , she thought sardonically, as she stretched out on the bed.

Rey had tested the door after satisfying her curiosity in the spare chamber, and found it to be locked. "So much for not being a prisoner" she spoke aloud, but the words rang discordant even to herself. Her hands remained uncuffed, and her trusty staff left upon her person. "A gilded cage? Or different kind of prisoner." Rey's thoughts went unbidden to the dream, which _he_ apparently shared. Could he harbor an ambition to recreate those visions? Rey squirmed at the heat which bloomed in her belly at those carnal images, now filled in with smoldering eyes and plush lips.

Mind revolting from the traitorous turn of her body, Rey scrambled off the bed, _his_ bed, to pace the narrow space before the door. There was a hum of the ship entering hyperspace, and Rey shivered, remembering all at once that she was in _space_. She, who had not left the confines of Jakku in thirteen years, was travailing through hyperspace in a First Order ship in the company of man whose name she still did not know but may one day share a child and an unworldly connection.

It was too much all at once.

When the muffled sound of boots scuffing the ground and hiss of the door releasing heralded his arrival, Rey was on him as soon as his broad shoulders filled the doorway.

"Tell me who you are and where we are going. Now." Rey emphasized her bark with a threatening slash of her staff.

For a moment his eyes narrowed with outrage, but seemed otherwise unconcerned with her staff hovering before his jugular. With the appearance of restraining himself with great effort, he clenched and unclenched his fists. "Kylo Ren."

The blood drained from Rey's face. Rey may have lived on the backwater world of Jakku, but even she had heard of the mysterious Kylo Ren, frightening specter who answered to the shadowy Supreme Leader of the First Order. Little was known of the man, but the rumor mill was happy to spread tales of his exploits, the line between fiction and truth unclear. Given the alacrity by which the stormtrooper cohort had responded to his commands, Rey knew this revelation was hardly surprising, but nonetheless felt small and frightened. _I am only a Scavenger_ , she reminded herself.

Kylo was watching her carefully. "We are in route to the _Finalizer_. Once there, I plan to use the considerable resources at my disposal to locate Sarela."

Rey nodded tightly at his modulated tone. "And what about me?"

There was a strange emotion coursing through his sable eyes. Rey focused on the glints of gold in their depths as a gloved hand cupped her cheek. "I hope you will let me show you what you can be, Rey."

"What I can be?" Fuck, why was her voice so breathy? A leather finger ran over her open lip, and her eyes shuttered closed involuntarily. 

She felt the hot weight of his breath fanning over before plush lips were pressed to her mouth. At first nibbling at her lower lip, then his tongue was pushing forcefully against the seam of her lips until she opened for the intrusion. He was too rough, devouring her mouth like a predator feasting on his prey, large hands pulling at hips in a bruising grip so she was flushed against him, hard and throbbing against her center. And yet, Rey found she did not mind the pleasurable-pain and unpracticed movements of his tongue against hers, hips moving instinctively as pleasure flickered and burned where they joined. Even without hearing the deep groan as Rey pulled from his mouth in favor of latching on the vulnerable skin of his throat, somehow his lust and need felt as palpable as her own.

Kylo had been slowly maneuvering their bodies towards the bed, but as soon as her back made contact with the soft sheets, his hungry gaze boring down on her, Rey felt panic and revulsion cut through the fog of lust. "Stop. I don't want this."

Dark head bowed, and although his face was turned away, Kylo made a low laugh, incredulous and frustrated, but his hands fell away instantly. Rey ignored the unpleasant thrill at watching him palm his obvious erection, reigning in his excited state. He smirked under her blatant gaze, watching beneath long lashes. "Although I applaud your stubbornness, your refusal is futile. I can feel how much you want this."

"Don't use your Force to manipulate me," Rey snapped, crossing her arms and turning to the side. "I am here to find Sarela, not become your whore."

A leather hand pulled her back, and Rey struggled gamely against his hold, but ultimately found herself beneath Kylo's intense scrutiny. "Is that what you think this is? A quick fuck to pass time?"

Rey averted her gaze. "What was I supposed to think? You show up blasters hot expecting me to come along, then shut me away in your private quarters awaiting your pleasure."

Kylo had calmed significantly at her muttered explanation, settling back on one arm as he regarded her speculatively. "You were willing to come with me to find Sarela, and willing enough just now, but cannot accept what she says we will be to one another?"

Rage bubbled to the surface in an instant. "I don't care what Sarela has said. I'm not going to fuck you," she spat.

If anything, Kylo seemed to find her defiance entertaining, sable eyes glinting with a dark amusement and fascination. "Say what you want sweetheart. You shared the same dream as I. It is only a matter of time before your pride crumbles."

Damn him.

Still, Kylo Ren was quite mistaken if he believed she would tumble so easily.

Rey had spent her whole life learning patience.

She would make him choke on his stupid certainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned above, RL has been challenging recently. I also haven't been able to write as much recently (I keep falling asleep on my ipad, heh) so unfortunately I can't promise quick updates in the future. I'll do my best of course.
> 
> The tribes of the Plaintive Hand is something I made up, btw. I scoured wookiepedia for this and another fic to get information on Jakku, and the setting is remarkably unnatural. lol. The actual native populations seem too small to survive more than a generation or two, and there doesn't seem to be any natural resources. So I made stuff up to satisfy myself.
> 
> I haven't decided how slow burn the Reylo will be with this. I'm not a fan of slowburn personally, but it feels appropriate that a relationship between the two will be difficult given the oddness of knowing where things are going before they can get there organically
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. The Smuggler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to quickly say thank you to everyone reading and commenting on this story. I know this doesn't focus as much on Reylo or romance as others do, but I hope you will enjoy it anyway.

After thirty years of marriage, Han Solo had learned long ago that Leia Organa was a force of nature.

In the strained years of estrangement following Ben's disappearance, Han had kept himself apart--better to nurse his wounds in the simple life he knew before stumbling into the lives of the Skywalkers, and in the company of his oldest friend.

Away from Leia and her magnetic presence, it was easier to forget his failures as a father and husband, and the disappointment and pain in his wife's eyes--quickly smoothed over with a diplomat's grace--every time he left. As time had passed, it became easier and easier to keep away, entrenched in one scheme or another, smart talking and outwitting his unsavory associates so he wouldn't have to remember the little furrowed line on her forehead as she scolded him, the gentle timber of her laugh, or the slight tremble gone unnoticed by most, as she asked when he would be back.

And yet, together again, he was confronted with the foolishness of that endeavor.

There was no forgetting Leia Organa.

Even as he stubbornly clung to independence, Han would return to her, an asteroid caught in the orbit of a sun.

"What's rattling in that head of yours?"

His wife's voice, hoarse from sleep, roused Han from his rumination.

Tucked on his shoulder in a loose white shirt taken from the bowels of the crew quarters, graying hair pulled into an elegant braid, lips quirked into a slight smile, Leia was as lovely as the day they met. Han allowed his gaze to follow the elegant line of her exposed thighs, and the curve of her backside, then dragged a hand to caress the skin marked by his eyes. Come to think, that shirt was definitely one of his from back in the day.

"Oh, nothing important."

Leia raised an eyebrow which morphed into a yawn, and pulled herself upright. Han let his hand fall away reluctantly, immediately mourning the warmth of her petite body against his. "Surprised you're awake, after last night, old man," she quipped, reaching for the trousers and discarded clothing which hung on the adjacent desk chair.

"The perils of old age," Han grunted, but he felt his eyes crinkling up at his wife. "Can't sleep more than four standard hours no matter how worn out I am. That doesn't mean I'm not up for another go." A lie, but Leia merely snorted before disappearing into the attached fresher. Han supposed it was a sign of the gravity of their circumstances that Leia gave up her chance for a witty rejoinder.

Despite the inherent risks of bringing Sarela back to the Resistance, Leia had judged it still to be the most prudent destination. Han had half a mind to take off with the girl and Chewie in the Falcon, but he could not deny that only the Resistance had the firepower to ward off the First Order's attentions.

Leia had thrown around words like "undue burden" and "lunacy" to expect her comrades or fellow high command "to believe in the untenable, inscrutable vagaries of the Force" in explaining the presence of their time traveling granddaughter, her inconvenient track record with murder, and problematic parentage. And yet, her "duty to the men and women of the Resistance" and to the Galaxy, demanded her leadership at this time, especially with the critical knowledge of the future Sarela had shared.

Han had merely shrugged, and passed Sarela a nut bar. He was a point-him-and-shoot-type of person.

The cover story proposed by Leia was simple, and sadly all too common. An orphan from the Outer Rim who saw her planet invaded and exploited of its resources by the First Order, and had been picked up by yours truly on a supply run. Alone in the world, Han had taken pity on the girl, and brought her to Leia, and the Resistance.

Although the girl herself was stubbornly adamant about getting back to her parents, she had reluctantly accepted Leia's decision.

Joining among the ranks of the Resistance had Han's skin itching like a cheap jumpsuit. With the end of the Galactic War, he had never thought to join a military band again. Chain of command, dogma and uniforms had never suited Han. Only a very stubborn woman could have convinced him to enlist (the ridiculous orange flight gear like the kid used to wear, did _not_ suit him). Han supposed he had already agreed to obey Leia in all things anyway.

It felt right to be back in the Falcon, however. A bit worn for wear, groaning with indigestion perhaps, but still his old girl.

As they made their way back to the main corridor (Leia in search of food, Han to relieve Chewie), Leia's hand slipped within his own. There was a comforting ease that spoke of many years in that simple hold, but the warmth unfurling in his chest belonged to the fresh memory of his wife's exhales of pleasure and the sweetness of her lips.

"Are you okay?" The words were stilted. Typical for him.

The hand within his tightened for a moment, then released.

A sharp exhale.

"I must be." That steely tone, that determination which both thrilled and saddened him.

"That's not how it works, Leia."

They had stopped moving at some point. His arms caged her in, but his grip was loose, eyes gentle. Leia's own were unseeing, staring over his shoulder, not at the plastoid, bedraggled panelling, but to a debris-filled space, the echo of silenced voices, a grief which never ends.

"A trillion people live in the Hosnian System."

"I know."

"I lost everyone I loved that day."

"I know."

"And I still kept fighting. Locked my pain and grief away. My mother, Breha's face, her gentleness, her wisdom. My father's laughter, his brow furrowed in a scold. I can hardly remember them anymore." The flat, passionless tone broke at last, a devastation of anguish filled in the void. Her soft, brown eyes were pleading and determined at once. "I'm so tired of losing everyone I love. Of being strong for others." Leia's eyes shuttered, a solitary tear made its way down porcelain cheek. "But failure is unthinkable."

Han pulled her into his arms. The force of her personality had a way of making Leia seem larger than life, and certainly more than her small frame, and yet Leia seemed frailer, and lost when tucked against his chest, head rested on his shoulder. "I know, Princess. And you'll do it. Save us all without a hair out of place. And I'll be here all the while."

Leia released a shuddering breath against his shoulder. There was a wet warmth on his neck from her silent tears. "Han, I need you to do something for me. So that I can do what needs to be done."

"Anything."

"I need you to protect them. Ben. Sarela." Leia disentangled from his arms in favor of meeting his eyes. "I want our family back together."

o-o-o-o-o-o

D'Qar gleamed like an emerald beneath thick cloud cover and a sweltering orange sky. The landing was smooth, obviously, beneath his and Chewie's veteran hands, but Han wished it was any other green planet to disembark upon. Takodana or Naboo, or even Endor would be preferable.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," he muttered while ambling from the cockpit, Chewie's warble of agreement echoing the sentiment.

"We could just leave?" Sarela piped up hopefully. The girl was slouched in Ben's old seat, wearing a new pair of grey leggings and striped blue and white tunic Leia picked for her.

"Fine by me. I know a good waffle place in Coruscant I could take you."

Sarela jumped up eagerly. "I want to go!"

"Oh don't be so dramatic, Han," Leia scolded from behind them. She had redressed and armed herself once more in a thick braid and military jacket of deep navy. Despite her words, Leia gaze was soft as she smiled at their granddaughter, smoothing the crinkles on Sarela's new tunic. "And I think we can scrounge up some waffles on base. Although they may be made from dehydrated polystarch..."

_Maybe next time, Pup_ , Chewie told the disappointed Sarela.

A welcoming party of sorts were gathered outside the Falcon as they made their way out, no doubt composed as much of curious onlookers and busybodies as essential folk. Instinct to turn tail with his family in tow back to the Falcon roared with in him, but Han stifled the instinct and tried his best to contort his features into the semblance of a smile. Leia was being encircled by a group with matching grim faces. There were familiar ones among them, such as Amilyn and Ackbar, the former of which met his gaze across the sea of faces with a tight smile. Although inertia separated his wife from them, Han kept a close eye on Sarela, blanched in discomfort, who was sticking to the furry, 2.3 meter comfort of Chewie amid the curious gazes.

A handsome young man with a jaunty step and cocky smile dressed in that outrageous orange flight suit, was putting himself in his path, hand outstretched. "General Solo. It's an honor, Sir."

He grimaced at the reminder of his old title. "Han will do."

The man remained even after he took the firm, but perfunctory, handshake. Han quite towered over him, although it was a frequent occurrence. He wondered, fleetingly, whether Ben, lanky and thin as a boy, had surpassed him yet now grown into a man. "Perhaps you don't remember me. Poe Dameron. It's been many years I'm afraid."

Ah. A tear-smudged curly haired boy clinging to the gnarled branches of a tree. "You're Shara and Kes's boy. It's been more than twenty years, hasn't it?"

A shadow passed over the habitually cheerful face, but Dameron smiled politely. "Twenty four."

"Han!"

Leia was moving through the crowd (which parted respectfully for their General), her cry saving him from formulating a reply. Dameron, apparently taking Leia's call as his leave, nodded briefly once more. "It's good to have you here, Solo." And disappeared into the crowd.

As she came abreast of them, Leia laid a hand upon Sarela's arm, looking up at their lanky granddaughter. "Sarela, I'd like you to meet Kaydel. She'll be settling you in."

Han belated noticed the young woman standing to attention, blonde hair pulled into quirky buns reminiscent of Leia's old hairstyle, a kind smile in place as she looked upon their granddaughter.

"It's lovely to meet you, Sarela."

"C-charmed," Sarela stuttered back.

Han could not quite help the choked laughter at his wild granddaughter's unexpected display of manners, to which she shot an expression both irritable and pleading. The softie that the Wookie was, he called gently after her, _You'll be fine. Come to the Falcon if you get lonely._

As the two young women marched off, Leia focused her attention on the two of them. Amusement at Chewie's remark melted away into solemnity. Voice pitched to a murmur she told them, "High command will be meeting at 1500. Are you ready?"

A weary sigh escaped him. "As ready as I'll ever be."

_Which is not much_ .

o-o-o-o-o-o

"Another Death Star?"

"The intelligence suggests that the weapon is nearly operational. Snoke has been biding his time to make a statement. With the element of surprise on his side, he hopes to eliminate the Republic before any of his enemies can foment a response or build an alliance."

Leia's voice cut clear and confident over the frayed disbelief of her comrades. Despite his growing headache at the increasingly loud voices and frequent interruptions, pride bloomed in his chest to watch first hand as his wife guided the discussion with ease. 

"General Hux's death would be an obvious wrench in their planning," Amilyn commented evenly. "But Imperial hardliners such as General Pryde or Commander Peavey aren't likely to oppose use of the weapon."

"But to target a whole system! The Death Star could only take out one planet. The firepower required to destroy such a size would be astronomical."

"According to our source, Starkiller base is not merely a large ship, but built directly into a planet quite dwarfing the Death Star. It derives its power from a sun, gathering dark energy to be directed by sub-hyperspace funneling to targets across the galaxy." Leia's hands were braced before the holoprojector, the image of calm conviction, but Han spied the weariness to her temple, grief and pain shadowing her eyes beneath the carefully applied makeup.

The skeptical, muddy brown eyes of a vice admiral, tall and ruddy and with a protruding brow whose name he had already forgotten, swiveled from Leia to Han. "And your source just happened to intercept this information? When the First Order, Resistance and Republic have been targeted by assassinations."

Han shrugged beneath the thin insinuation. Obviously the truth was that their source was also a sweet, budding Darksider on a revenge murder streak, but in his line of work, Han had often found himself navigating the slippery space between truth and lie. "A project of this size needs money, resources and contractors. Even if they built the whole thing in the Unknown Regions, knowledge has a way of traveling, even if its just in pieces, even if they monitor everyone with the most vital information. My source? They've got no reason to lie, there's no profit in it."

"Smugglers," Admiral Jontan or Josta or whoever muttered with distaste.

A convenient lie though it had been, Han raised an eyebrow at the man's bluntness.

Jontan managed to blush. "No offense."

"A weapon of this colossal size operates on the pervasiveness of fear. Its destruction is undoubtably unparalleled, but it can hardly attack every core planet at once. Snoke has been keeping this weapon a secret for a reason. Destroy the Hosnian System and cripple moral among the Core Worlds and beyond. We must uncover any weaknesses in this weapon and exploit them as soon as possible," Leia said firmly, casting a challenging gaze upon the others.

For the next few minutes they continued to argue and hash out how the intelligence would be substantiated and the weaknesses discovered, but Han allowed his mind to wander during this discussion. Sarela had only vaguely hinted at some weakness relating to the containment of dark energy, admitting she couldn't remember how the weapon had been disabled, only that Starkiller was destroyed by the Resistance before D'Qar could be incinerated. Given Sarela's uncertainty, Leia had judged that guiding their team into discovering these details would have to suffice.

Now an old comrade from Alliance days, Caluan Ematt, was speaking in a ponderous tone. "It is now more than ever we need the help of Luke Skywalker. There has been word of a possible lead on Skywalker in Lor San Tekka on Jakku."

"Luke!" He couldn't help but sputter, shooting an incredulous glance at Leia. She hadn't breathed a word on the subject of her missing twin. Furious with him, Han had assumed, but given his own long absence, he hadn't been able to muster a great deal of wrath for his best friend nor summoned the courage to broach the subject.

Leia met his accusatory gaze evenly. "Dameron shall be briefed. If that is all, I think a break is in order."

o-o-o-o-o-o

As the afternoon smoldered into evening and Leia was pulled into endless meetings and planning sessions, Han found himself hiding away in the familiar surroundings of the Falcon. In actuality, the old girl was in serious need of attention, and Han much preferred doing the attending than being holed up in meetings or making small talk with Resistance members.

"Grandfather? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

The long-limbed girl was perched above the engine room like a brittle bird of glossy hair and awkward limbs, apparently having escaped her handler. Sight of the girl biting her lip anxiously as she worried a wire between two fingers had Han twitching and biting back a bark after the long, trying day, but he could tell she was too worked up on whatever thought was stewing in her mind and opted for patience instead.

"Hey, get down here kid," he told her gruffly. Ben would get the same constipated look when he needed to tell him something, and Han supposed that for one reason or another he was never quite as gentle as he should have been. "The old girl has already been through enough trauma. Maybe you can give me a hand."

Sarela brightened considerably at the request, hopping down from her perch with a delighted grin.

Under his tolerant gaze, the girl picked up a spanner and began poking her nose into the wiring and circuits.

Watching her stirred a memory of their tumultuous exit from Jakku. "How'd you know before to by-pass the compressor?"

The head of tousled curls whipped around, Sarela smiling a bit sheepishly. "I admit I cheated there. My mechanic and aeronautical skills are basic level, enough to pitch in with minor repairs only, but Mum told me the story how she met you, and it always stuck with me."

Han raised his eyebrows at this surprising confession. Thus far, Sarela had been hazy in what she chose to reveal of the "alternate timeline," as Leia had taken to refer to the girl's version of events, and he had yet to hear of his own connection to the girl's mother. "Borrowing your mom's genius to make yourself look good are you?" he teased.

Sarela laughed aloud, a charming full laugh that had him smiling back. "She'd like that. You weren't nearly as complimentary in her version of the story."

"So your mom's the talented mechanic," he mused aloud. "Ben was never interested in doing repairs. Preferred flying to fixing. Not that I can blame him there. Guess we know who you take after." Han rubbed the back of his head, seeing how the girl seemed to light up hungrily at mention of her father. Privately, Han considered the absurdity of regretting that failed lesson as a father. He had wanted Ben to learn the value of using his own hands to create and maintain what he loved, but the boy never quite took a shine to it. After Ben burned down his Uncle's Academy, it was only a foolish man who regretted such a small thing.

Han shook his head of these thoughts, focusing on his granddaughter, and her shining blue eyes.

"Did you teach Dad to fly the Falcon?"

"Yep, when he was six years old." Han leaned against a supporting beam, shooting Sarela conspiratorial look. "It was meant to be kept a secret. And Ben did his best to keep things under wraps, but Leia has a way of sniffing out deception. He cracked under the pressure and sold me out. We didn't try again until he was ten."

Sarela was still chuckling in a wistful way as Han mulled a question of his own, the same question that had been turning his mind like a sore tooth since the wayward girl had entered their lives. "What was he like, my son?"

The girl didn't bother affecting any surprise. _The Force as typical_ , Han thought wryly.

"He's like....a grumpy lothcat."

"A _what_?"

"He's proud, and particular how he likes things to be--black clothes, black everything, and lashes out when things don't go his way. But he's really loyal to those who belong to him. I think he's kind. I'm a bit of a messy eater--"

Han couldn't help the incredulous snort from escaping at that understatement. "Noticed did you?" he huffed unrepentantly at Sarela's glare.

"--a _bit_. Anyway, I kind of spilled crumbs on his bed and maybe a bit on the floor too, and I could tell it annoyed him. But he didn't say anything, just gave me more ration bars and even some fancy ones with dried fruit."

"Ration bars with fruit? Can't top that generosity," he commented drolly, but he felt a glimmer of hope at the silly story. Although Kylo Ren may be no one to Han Solo, he could recall a little, lonely boy who collected flowers for his mother, learned Shyriiwook to speak with Uncle Chewie, and befriended a stray dog that wandered into the garden of their home in Chandrila.

"Grandfather."

"What is it kid?"

"I need to tell you something." Here it is, the old smuggler thought, watching his granddaughter's levity fall away into a look of steely determination.

"I'm listening."

"There is one more thing I'm trying to change. No, I'm _going_ to change."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's patience. I had a bit of writer's block on this chapter, but the good news is I wrote the next chapter, and bits of the following two in the meantime. So I'll probably post the next one in a couple days after editing. I'm not so much of a planner than a see-where-the-characters-take-me kind of writer, but I promise I will keep at this till the end.
> 
> I think you can see the obvious parallels to canon in this chapter, in Leia asking Han to protect their family to mirror her asking him to bring Ben home. I'm sure you can also guess what Sarela was going to tell Han at the end.
> 
> When I watched the Force Awakens, the scene in which the Hosnian System was destroyed is probably one of the most visceral moments of horror for me as a viewer. I was less than five years old when I watched the OT for the first time, so the implications of Alderaan's destruction were lost on me (and probably most of the plot haha). But it's crazy thinking how much Leia has been through--the loss of her family, and her planet. The Hosnian System must have felt very personal to her. Personally, I believe she must compartmentalize the tragedy she has undergone, and trying to defeat the Empire/First Order, acting as a leader in the forefront, is her coping mechanism.
> 
> Anyway I hope all the set up wasn't too boring. Next will be Kylo again ;)


	6. A Boy in a Mask

_The spaceport hotel was grimy._

_Some backwater planet hotel with a questionable all-you can buffet and a comforter that hadn't been washed since its manufacture. As soon as he was back on the Supremacy he'd need dispose of his clothing, have them incinerated or disinfected then donated or whatever. It was the exact sort of place Han Solo would have frequented, meeting seedy business partners at the hotel bar while stringing along his ten year old son on the promise of waffles._

_The waffles were good though._

_Rey would love them._

_She was a thing of beauty like this, head thrown back, lips parted. Her delectable breasts bouncing as she rode him, dusky nipples hovering before him like an invitation._

_He bucked his hips experimentally, wishing to drive the tempo faster, hotter, but Rey ground down on him, flexing her Force grip on his arms like a warning. "Not yet," she murmured. "I won't let you come yet."_

_He whimpered at the sound._

_She kept up the torturous pace, taut muscles of her abdomen and thighs clenching as her hips undulated. He watched as pleasure took over her, smooth inner walls gripping him mercilessly, and he held on, barely--_

_"Ben--."_

When he woke, Kylo knew it was still the early hours of the _Finalizer's_ artificial daycycle without consulting the chronometer. Although his habit was to rise early to train on any normal day, he knew it was the dream that had roused him from slumber. The dream, that _name_.

The dream itself was no longer surprising. Kylo had grown accustomed to these visions from another life, and taking himself in hand to thoughts of her. With a firm grip on his cock, pumping the smooth skin with practiced movements, he wondered, helplessly, whether Rey had been there. Did she come, here on the _Finalizer_ , in her quarters, as well as in the dream? Was she touching herself now? Imagining him inside her? Thinking her fingers weren't enough? Wanting his cock to fill her, stretch her. The more his thoughts shamefully spiraled, he pumped himself faster, before long spilling against his chest and on his sheets.

As he went about the motions of wiping his spend with a damp cloth and dressing for training, Kylo berated himself silently. Objectively he knew his actions were foolish, when he would have to face her and her stubborn coolness in the metaphorical light of day.

The soothing rhythms of throwing himself into physical exertion did much to temper his mood. His body melded into the forms with the ease of years behind them, repeated them until sweat soaked his thin training clothing, his muscles ached and the old scars sung in taut flesh. He should bring Rey here. _He would_.

His own humiliation and sexual frustration aside, Kylo knew he teetered on a perilous balance in the current fraught climate following Hux's murder and the Supreme Leader's distant, but menacing expectations.

After a quick shower and some quick orders placed with a service droid, Kylo was once again shrouded in the guise of the Master of the Knights of Ren and made his way to the command bridge.

Crisply suited officers and the familiar chrome armored Captain Phasma entered his vision. Behind the mask, Kylo swallowed a groan as Phasma made a beeline for him. In the command vacuum created by Hux's death, Kylo had virtual command of the Finalizer (even before Hux's death, the hierarchy between the two had been unclear), but as uninterested as he was in the day to day running of a military vessel, Phasma had been filling in much of Hux's shoes. As Phasma flanked him, Kylo nodded curtly, "Captain."

"Sir. There has been word that General Pryde may be joining us."

"Ah." It was only a matter of time before a potential successor for Hux were to appear. In truth, hierarchy was an odd relic in the First Order. While chain of command had its place among the lower ranking stormtrooper units and officers, proximity to the Supreme Leader, such as he, as apprentice, Hux, and Phasma had enjoyed, bestowed as much power as any military title. It was a chaotic system for a military organization to employ, and a very deliberate choice. The Supreme Leader thrived on the spectacle--the fear and reverence of his men for the mysterious power he wielded, and the powerful Enforcer who answered only to him. Because of this, there were as many officers in the First Order reluctant to step up to Hux's place as jockeying for it. A little madness was a key qualifier for the job.

The mask gave away little of Phasma's thoughts, but Kylo imagined she had been waiting for more of a reaction. None to be had, the Captain continued, "The search for General Hux's murderer continues. Security footage from all relevant areas was removed. The General's quarters were unequipped with surveillance, however all approaching corridors were targeted. Of those held after the blockade put in place, all individuals questioned have been accounted for. It would appear the culprit escaped before the blockade."

Kylo was grateful for the neutrality the vocoder provided. "Do you suggest inside assistance?"

"A well paid slicer could have done the job, Sir."

"Have our spies put word with the right parties of any well paid jobs filled recently."

"Of course, Sir."

A consummate soldier, Phasma took the dismissal with aplomb.

Safe in the inscrutable anonymity of his mask, Kylo made his way before the bridge, crossing his arms as he faced the viewport.

This was...good.

For now attention was diverted. There was little reason for anyone to suspect Sarela's involvement. She was unknown. A non-entity. An anomaly in the Force.

The only danger was in drawing the Supreme Leader's attention.

Could he sense her? Across the galaxy, in the Unknown Regions.

Kylo _felt_ her. A gravity pulling him washed in azure and ebony and gold. She was somewhere, somewhere safe he hoped. But there was little of the tangible to support such a hope. Just a feeling.

It was paramount that he raise no further notice. The scraping and bowing of the weak minded cogs of the Order were distasteful to Kylo, but a certain amount of discretion would be required if he wished to protect his family.

His Family.

Even now a strange smile was curving his lips, beneath the privacy of his helmet.

If he was going to protect his family, he needed to focus on his mission. Find Skywalker. Confront his past. End his turmoil, for once and for all.

But first he wanted to see Rey.

No, he _needed_ to see Rey.

His feet were carrying him away from the Command Bridge before the decision finished crystallizing in his mind. Unformed shirts and plastoid armor mumbled and scattered as he stormed through the bridge and out the corridor, in a dull chorus of "Sir"'s and "But Sir"'s.

Kylo ignored them all.

As the door to gave way with a hiss, Kylo just barely avoided impact with the blunt end of a staff with both years of training and Force augmented reflexes.

Amused, and impressed, Kylo snapped a broad arm forward to grip the staff, using brunt force, and surprise, to disarm the wielder. "Should I get used to this greeting?" He deadpanned, pivoting slightly to allow the staff to drop naturally and take in his assaulter.

Rey was fresh faced and beautiful, chestnut hair pulled into little buns quite similar to Sarela, regarding him with a tolerant nod. After accepting her staff, Rey moved from the door and they entered the chamber proper.

The quarters Kylo arranged for Rey were modest but comfortable, suitable for a senior officer with bedroom, attached fresher and a small study/sitting room. He was pleased to see the table stacked with empty plates and glasses, peeled skins and crumbs. The first couple days Rey had stubbornly refused the lavish breakfast he had ordered with the service droid, part of some pigheaded desire to refuse to be wooed, Kylo supposed. Undaunted, Kylo chose a more modest, but thoughtful assortment of items he hoped she would enjoy.

Noticing the direction of his gaze, Rey said primly, "It would be wasteful to not eat it."

Magnanimous in his victory, Kylo smiled. "I'm glad."

Rey eyed him suspiciously, no doubt awaiting a greater reaction, before admitting, "I liked the little breads. And the fruit."

"Then I'll order the same tomorrow," he promised, settling himself into a chair by the table, and allowing his gaze to sweep over her.

Rey had dressed in one of the simple dark blue, long sleeved woolen tunic, cloak and leggings he had requisitioned for her use. Not quite First Order, lacking any insignia upon the fabric, but certainly of the aesthetic. Among the items ordered, had been black, reds and grays as well, but the color suited her. Although the frenzied tapping of Rey's foot signaled her impatience or nerves as the silence continued, Kylo allowed his gaze to linger over her shapely legs, the way the fine fabric hugged her athletic frame and modest curves, the warm glow of her clean, tanned skin.

Irritation and something hot and fidgety scrapped against his senses before recoiling to their owner. Kylo winced at the unintended projection. The last couple of days Kylo had attempted to teach rudimentary Force training. It had not been going well.

"I thought we could try something different today," he began tentatively.

"No more meditation?" She quipped with an eye roll.

Kylo shrugged a bit sheepishly. "It never came naturally to me, anyway."

Rey gave a soft harrumph at that, which Kylo could almost believe to be laughter. She had declared meditation to be boring and an opportunity for napping. His own thoughts had been frazzled and overly occupied with Rey's bare arms. He suppressed a smile as she shuffled to the floor begrudgingly, where their previous sessions had been conducted.

"Actually, I thought a change in scenery would be helpful."

The effect of his words was immediate upon Rey. She lit up like a child with a cloud cake. "We're going somewhere else?"

"These chambers are too small and perhaps overly distracting. I thought we could move our session to my training rooms."

As Rey made her way eagerly to the door, Kylo pulled her up with a hand to her shoulder. Rey stilled beneath his hand, and he let it fall away immediately. Even with the brief, glancing touch, even with layers of wool and leather between them, Kylo felt a shudder run through his body at the warmth of her sunkissed skin. He had not touched her since she had pushed him away on the shuttle. "Draw your hood," he ordered gruffly. "It would be best if few were to know your face for your own protection."

Rey raised a brow at his comment, but otherwise moved to obey, pulling the dark fabric over her head. Thus shrouded she could be anyone, or a Knight of Ren. That would suit.

They walked in silence from her quarters, to the turbolift, and down to his private training facilities he had exited only that morning.

Kylo had thought little of her taciturn mood, until they entered the chambers, and Rey, quick to pull the hood down, turned to face him with a lip caught beneath her teeth.

"Take off your mask," she blurted out. "Please."

Although Kylo had taken to do without it in her company, he indulged her command. It was oddly satisfying to do as she asked.

"Before we go any farther, I want you do something for me."

Curious at the sudden request, Kylo pitched his voice gently. "What is it?"

Her obvious hesitation only made him more so. "Would you tell me the truth, if I asked you questions?"

Affronted, Kylo retorted immediately, "I would not lie to you." At the recoil on Rey's face, he made himself calm. "What would you like to know?"

She licked her lips in a nervous gesture that drew his gaze to the quick dart of a pink tongue. "I want to know more about you. Who you are, as a person."

To which there was no easy answer, Kylo thought wryly, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "I am who I am, Rey. Ask me what you wish and I will answer."

Rey seemed to consider this before speaking. "Why are you doing this? Why me?"

A frown was bunching up his forehead. "You still don't believe it. The connection between us. Sarela, our family."

"I know all that! I mean, I'm _trying_ to understand," Rey cried out. For a moment something flickered in her hazel depths, softer and vulnerable. "Is it just because of what Sarela says?"

Comprehension creeped through the fog, and with it hope. Approaching her with the cautiousness emblematic of Solo men with women, he spoke deliberately, "Not at all. There is something between us, Rey. Pulling through the Force, drawing me to you. You feel it too, don't you?"

Rey hardly seemed to be breathing. Pink lips parted, pupils dilating the closer he came to her. Still, Kylo did not touch her. _She will come to me_ , he reminded himself, relishing the flutter of her lashes.

"I wish you could see what I see, Rey," he breathed. "Power. Beauty. Destiny. But just under the surface, waiting for you to grasp it."

"Oh."

And Rey took a step back. Then another.

The charged moment seemed to fizzle into a malaise of flustered emotions and heady awkwardness while Rey took stuttered breaths and flushed red. Even as her emotions were inadvertently conveyed to him, Kylo felt oddly uncomfortable in triumphing in their broadcast.

Clearing his throat loudly, Kylo moved further into the room to fold himself into a meditative pose. "Shall we get started?"

Still a bit subdued, Rey moved to join him on the mat, imitating his pose perfunctorily if not gracefully. "What should I do?"

"Let's begin by you reaching out, same as before. Feel for the Force around you."

Rey grumbled a bit in an unintelligible volume, but closed her eyes nonetheless.

As he waited, Kylo allowed his own senses to linger in the space between them. Unlike their daughter and himself, Rey was awash in golden illuminance, a veritable siren call from the Light. But even her signature was shadowed by insidious tendrils of Darkness. Kylo made no move to touch her presence. It was a curious thing, how Rey could unconsciously access the Force, but floundered when she attempted to grasp it.

After a minute had passed, there was a shuffling sound, and Kylo opened his eyes to see Rey sprawled across the mat. "It's not working. I'm starting to believe the Force is imaginary and you're pulling my leg."

"You already use the Force," Kylo reminded her, eyeing her undisciplined form with disapproval. "It reinforces your blows, gives you agility with your staff, warns of danger. How else did you survive alone on Jakku?"

Although Rey scowled in palpable frustration, she did not contest the point. "Well it's not working."

"Perhaps because you had no words to describe it, your mind compartmentalized its interactions with the Force," Kylo mused aloud. "Before the rise of the Empire, and likely to this day, there were those far from the reach of the Jedi who would live and die without receiving any Force training. Often such people would have only middling powers, living their lives without recognizing their abilities. Your potential goes far beyond them." He paused, eyeing Rey speculatively. "There is something I want to try. If you consent."

"What is it?" she asked warily.

"I wish to go into your mind. Awaken your own consciousness, so to speak."

Revulsion and embarrassment roiled across her delicate features before settling into a downturned mouth. "I see."

"I would not go searching. I have no desire to invade your privacy," he assured her hastily, even as his blood began to heat at the thought of knowing her innermost desires, at her passion and arousal unobfuscated by fear or shame. _Lay her bare, take what's yours._

"You promise?" she whispered, staring past him.

Suddenly Kylo was ashamed of his desires, of the cloying voice. _You're a monster. You will ruin her_. "I promise."

They settled once again on the mats, eyes closed and silent. It was easy to find her, a dancing, nervous string of light. Effortless, even, as he slid into her mind like gliding into silk sheets, her inviting, intoxicating presence. Kylo had to stifle a moan of pleasure to be encompassed in her warm light, to rein in the instinct to burrow, to consume. Even as the impulse shook him, flits and images dancing in his vision--a young girl with three buns and tears, his own mask, gleaming in the crackling red light of his saber, bodies with unclear faces twined in passion--the easy waves and buffets lost their serenity, churning and milling as something awoke. He could feel the moment that Rey panicked, unable to handle even his benign presence, tried to push him out--and fell into him.

Rey was inside him. Flitting, rolling, she moved with the power and grace of a happabore in a fine ceramics store. A scream died unvoiced as she tumbled through his mind, dancing through his childhood tantrums, his mother's sweetly fragrant embraces, Han's careless goodbyes, Luke's grizzled disapproval, his body, wracked with pain at the hands of his Master.

_Rey._

The crackling blade seared through flesh and bone, a sickening smell of death and meat. Snoke's twisted, deformed face smiled viciously upon him.

_Rey._

Tears dribbled silently down youthful cheeks, blotching the paper and black ink beneath his hands as he mumbled to himself over and over: "It doesn't matter. You don't care."

_Rey._

Even in his mind, the voice was weak, but he endeavored.

_Rey, sweetheart._

Then, at last. _Ben?_

Shock rippled through him a moment. That name again. _Yes, Rey._

_It's dark._

_Then take my hand._

Agonizing seconds passed as they made their inching way through the bowels of his own mind. Rey's small hand was a palpable weight in his own as they continued outward and into the safety of her mind once again. There Kylo left her, before removing himself with excruciating gentleness.

Back into his own mind, alone, Kylo was aware of the creak of his bones, the smooth press of the training mats beneath his folded frame, the low hum of generators and warming and ventilation systems. His head ached from the gymnastics endured, but he was sane, he was himself. He opened his eyes blearily, and was met with Rey's tearful gaze.

"Ben?" she croaked, crawling forward on hands and knees until their knees barely brushed.

" _Don't._ " The words were a plea. Futile, it would become apparent.

*You are Ben," she told him resolutely. Rey was reaching forward, cupping his jaw in her gentle grasp. "I could feel it in your mind. You know it to be true."

Kylo wrenched away from her gentle hold, falling into the familiar rage at her presumption. "You see into my mind and think you know everything about me?" _Yes, give in to anger. Let it flow through you and show her her place._

Rey was an infuriating icy calm. "You lie only to yourself."

" _Ben Solo is dead_ ," he snarled. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, saber in his hand, crackling a virulent beam through a combat droid, through the side paneling. Gone to anger though he was, Kylo focused his destruction away from Rey. Unable to meet her gaze, it was nonetheless easy to summon her expression to mind--no doubt naked fear and hatred colored it even now. _She will never love you. She would only fuck you out of pity. Or a misguided wish to bring you to the light._

Tears prickled his eyes at the hateful words of self-loathing.

"Please look at me." Her voice was very small and tremulous, and yet he could not bring himself to obey. To see his fears realized.

Finally, in a defeated tone, "Kylo--"

There was the sound of the door releasing heralded by light steps and nervous tittering. Kylo wasn't sure whether to rage or bless the interruption.

"Sir?" The high pitched warble of Lieutenant Mitaka called from the doorway.

"What?"

"We've received word that the Resistance is on the move."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original plan had been to cycle back to Sarela and follow the pattern of POVs, but as the characters merged into the same vicinity's, it made more sense to go back and forth between the two groups. So I'm going to play by ear in terms of how many chapters per character there will be at a time. It doesn't make sense to have three in a row of POVs all at the Resistance if nothing is going on.
> 
> Next up is Sarela. I'll try to have it up maybe over the weekend. My mother is visiting me for a couple weeks then I'm flying to the States for the next two so my update schedule is going to be a little uncertain for the next four to five weeks. I'll still be writing whenever I can but RL and family will be taking priority for a bit. Thank you guys :)


	7. A Girl is No One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone...I know it's been ages and ages since I updated this. **hides**  
> Enjoy?

Sarela hated D'Qar.

It was hot. So unbearably hot. And humid.

At any hour of the day a thick sheen of sweat coated her forehead, collected on her lower back and drenched her tunic. And as if the heat wasn't bad enough, D'Qar boasted a thriving insect population, most notably a stinging, flying nuisance that buzzed in her ears and drank her blood.

"Even Oovo is better than this hell hole," she mumbled to herself darkly.

 _They're attracted to your blood, young pup_ , Chewbacca had informed her with an amused growl, cheerfully unaffected by stinging insects and creepy crawlies with his thick pelt. Still, the Wookie was even worse off for the heat, and they took turns working on repairs in and out of the shade, making sure to drink copious amounts of water as per Leia's admonishment.

Fortunately, most of the base was underground, which kept out the worst of the heat, and the cooling system may have been outdated, but functioned.

Nonetheless, Sarela found her steps inevitably tracking up and out of the Resistance base to bury herself in the safety promised by the rusty tin bucket of a freighter. Out and away from the pitying glances of well-meaning people that failed to reach her heart. Instead, a fire lighted her blood and words bubbled and fizzled unsnarled within, _Where were you when my mother was sentenced to prison? Where were you when my father was killed like an animal?_ But she smiled and nodded and escaped.

 _They'd hate you if they knew anyway_.

"How's it going down there?"

The grinning face of Poe Dameron was looking down at her.

"Hi." Sarela winced at the high pitched, breathy sound. _Smooth_. She could feel in real time, the trickling of sweat down her forehead and an itchy spot on her cheek that felt suspiciously like a smudge of grease.

The famous resistance General from stuffy holobooks and her mother's old friend, was only a pilot now. _Albeit a very handsome pilot_ , a silly part of her brain opinioned.

He's old enough to be your father, she reminded herself. No, he's _older_ than your father.

The reminder did little for the fluttering of her heartbeat, and the wide smile she felt creasing her lips, just a tad smidgen beyond friendly and groping into creepy. Sarela pulled her mouth abruptly closed. "I mean, hey. I'm Sarela." There, that was appropriately cool and collected.

"So I've heard." Poe Dameron was still smiling at her, apparently unfazed by her awkwardness. The pilot stretched out a hand, which Sarela stared at blankly, wondering whether to shake or be pulled to her feet. Dameron was waiting, a gentleness to his warm, amber eyes, and he wiggled his fingers as if cognizant of her social impairment, and finding them not to be an oddness, but a joke between them.

Sarela tentatively reached her own hand out, to be clasped in a warm, firm grip, and pulled solidly to her feet. "Hi," she found herself repeating, like a dullard. His eyes were even prettier closer up, crinkled in a bed of laugh lines.

"Hi again. I'm Poe, by the way. Poe Dameron."

"I know," she blurted out. At his raised eyebrows, she added hastily, "Leia told me about you."

"Only good things I hope."

"I heard you fly a T-70 X-wing starfighter. With 5L5 fusial thrust Split-engines."

Dameron gave out a disbelieving laugh. "The General told you that?"

Sarela blushed. "Not exactly. It's just, I've always wanted to see one up close."

"Sure, why not?"

After yelling to Chewie she'd take a break (who warbled back not to take too long flirting, to Sarela's humiliation. Dameron, fortunately, didn't seem to comprehend Shyriiwook), Sarela followed the pilot, a buzzing orange and white blur trailing alongside them.

The T-70 X-wing starfighter was a thing of beauty. Although long out of manufacture in Sarela's time, the model was popular after the war, naturally through the exploits of its most famous pilot, former General Poe Dameron, among enthusiasts and starfighters alike. Sarela did not have the luxury to see a starfighter or craft up close, but she had enjoyed looking at discarded holomags and flight simulators in the prison library. She circled the starfighter reverently, running a hand along the smooth durasteel.

"Ever flown a starfighter before?"

"I wish," she mumbled back reverently, hands still stroking a sleek wing. Reminded of Dameron's indulgent gaze, Sarela forced her hands to come away from groping his ship. It had been a fantasy of hers, on those lonely nights. To break her mother from prison, find a ship, and make their way through the Galaxy, where no one could find them. The obstacles to such a plan were of course numerous, but it hadn't stopped her from visualizing the ship holo mechanics, studying hyperlanes and flight simulators. _I guess I should have studied Ysalamari and locking mechanisms instead_ , she thought bitterly. "My mum was a pilot," she said at last, voice thick.

"Mine too, actually." Dameron came to stand beside her, back resting against the wing. He had a hand scrubbing his short-cropped curls, an expression on his face like he was debating whether to speak. "I lost my mom when I was really young. It was illness, a sudden thing. I know it's not the same as what you are going through. But if you ever want to talk to someone, I'm here."

Tears prickled the corner of her eyes. Normally, she hated crying. It made her feel weak; it drew the attention of false sympathizers and the cruel. And yet, lately, she couldn't seem to stop doing it, like picking at a scab until crusty blood ran a fresh scarlet to the surface. "Thank you," she choked out. Although she knew Poe was merely going off the cover story Leia had spread, Sarela's thoughts went automatically to the morning she woke and knew her mother was gone. Loneliness, grief. The words were mere drops in the bucket to the whirling tempest inside. "I will."

Dameron was watching her, head cocked to the side with a crooked smile. "I'll be off base for a bit, but when I'm back, how'd you say to taking a ride on my X-wing?"

She liked the sound of that. Wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand ( _Kriff_ , her hand was definitely covered in grease), Sarela straightened with something like genuine pleasure curving her lips. Feeling immeasurably more cheerful, she demanded artlessly, "When will you be back? Where are you going anyway?"

The pilot chuckled in response. "I'm afraid that's classified." Reaching forward to ruffle her hair in a gesture that Sarela normally would find disgustingly condescending, but from the roguishly handsome pilot she supposed was okay, he told her, "Maybe after you enlist, sunshine."

A blush found its way across her cheeks again. Was there an endearment that suited her less? "We'll see," she muttered, studying her toes to avoid meeting his eyes.

Excitement to fly a T-70 X-wing aside, Sarela could not help the crushing disappointment at a chance for information denied. Stuck on the Resistance base she was merely a child, an orphan, a pawn in the clash of Titans, to be met with indulgence or dismissal by the adults around her. _You know what to do, that_ voice whispered. _Take what you need, make him do your bidding_.

 _It would be easy_. Sarela scarcely breathed, ran a tongue over parched lips, unfocused gaze drifting somewhere over Dameron's shoulder, while he was saying something about running diagnostics. Skimming the surface level of his thoughts, something she had done thoughtlessly since the Force awoke within her, had a greasy, slippy feel now. Sympathy, gentleness for an orphan girl--Sarela flinched at those, but forced herself to continue, _she needed to know_. There it was--a mission, Jakku, Skywalker, a map.

"Sarela, are you alright?" Dameron, apparently unaware of her violation, was searching her face with worry. Guilt and a prickling discomfort wormed its way through her, belated and useless.

"I think I need to lie down. Maybe too much sun." The excuse trembled off her lips cowardly and weak.

Dameron seemed intent to carry her into the base, if necessary, but Sarela waved him off with the promise to lay down in the Falcon, only a short distance away.

o-o-o-o-o-o

"You can do this."

Night had fallen on D'Qar, illuminance from one of the planet's moons filtering through the small window of the room allotted her. Although enlisted members of lower rank bunked in shared rooms from what Sarela could surmise, being an unlisted member without security clearance had ended her up with a very small guest room closer to the base exit and far from conference rooms and high command.

After excusing herself early from dinner by claiming she felt unwell, Sarela had bid her time in the small chamber.

Waiting.

Thinking.

Strengthening her resolve.

The thin mattress and bed creaked beneath her shifting; the off-white, mass-produced sheets felt sterile and coarse against her skin. Hands, small and clean, nails chipped under her inspection. No trace of blood. No evidence of violence.

She lifted her hand further, high enough to be drenched in moonlight.

Their deaths had felt good, _right_. It had been so very easy to grasp the skeins of inky power, like a door in her mind opened. Necessity made her powerful. Cruelty made her ruthless.

Entering Poe's mind hadn't felt good. Neither did it feel right.

And yet she yearned to act. No, needed to make things right.

Caught in the unsteady web of Time, mother's weary, broken eyes searing her heart, urgency burned through her veins and smothered all other moral dilemmas.

The time had come.

Sarela surged to her feet, a black cloak drawn over her distinctive features. Still, she recalled the Force repulsion utilized by her father upon the _Finalizer_. It was a simple matter to adopt it as her own, tread through the base with none the wiser. To the guards on duty she murmured a compulsion, "You will let me through, and forget this meeting."

As the humid, jungle evening pressed against her senses, a part of her thrilled at the ease by which she manipulated her way out of the base. The pleasurable pulse of power flooding her senses was as intoxicating as any stimulant or alcohol.

Steps having traced those from the morning, she waited in the shadows for her quarry to return.

Dameron did not disappoint her.

Changed from the orange flight gear she had grown accustomed to seeing him in, Dameron wore instead civilian clothing, a worn leather jacket, tan shirt and dark trousers that suited him better. The pilot strode forward with an energetic step, a sense of purpose Sarela could read in the lines of his jaw, even without the Force. Just as he came up to the ship, Sarela stepped from the shadows.

"Hello Poe."

The pilot had a blaster out and cocked in her direction before she could do little more than pull down the hood of her cloak. Although Poe was quick to drop the blaster with a curse as he recognized her, Sarela's heartbeat was still in overdrive, a cocktail of fear and exhilaration heating her blood, and a hand raised before her in an instinctive measure. Implicitly, she knew she would have stopped that shot from connecting.

"What are you doing out here?" Poe demanded, as expected, fury and concern pulling his eyebrows into a scowl. "I could have shot you!"

"We are on a Resistance base," Sarela felt the need to point out. "Wouldn't the First Order blast us out of the sky instead of greeting you by name?"

Poe seemed too angry to entertain her humor, but his lips twitched reluctantly. "I don't know. You tell me. What are you doing out here."

Sarela tensed at the challenge in his gaze. The moment had come. Reaching a hand forward, she met his eyes steadily while imbuing her words with the Force, "You will take me on your mission."

Though momentarily dazed under her words, Poe shook his head, disbelief painting over his anger. "Not a chance, sunshine. Believe me, you don't want to go where I'm going."

 _Kriff_. The compulsion was obviously not sufficient. Sarela grit her teeth, narrowing her gaze and pushing power outward. "You _will_ take me on your mission. You will alert no one."

This time Sarela could see the compulsion take hold on the pilot. His handsome face took on an unnatural blankness, expression dazed. "I will take you on my mission. I will alert no one." The murmured repetition had a melancholic quality.

Sarela pushed such thoughts away, before charging forward resolutely. "Find us a ship for two."

"I will find us a ship for two."

Dameron navigated them slowly through the outdoor hangar, eerie in the darkness but for uncertain illuminance as cloud cover obscured the moons. Sarela kept apace of him as they came before an ancient starfighter, dinged and faded even in the dark. "Is this space worthy?" she asked dubiously, raking her gaze over the antiquated hull.

For a moment, something of the real man glimmered as Poe smirked at her skepticism. "It's a BTL-S3 Y-wing. May not look like much, but these things won the Rebellion. Tough as nails, armed to the teeth."

"Guess I can't complain," she muttered to herself, and watched as Poe went through the motions of preparing for flight.

Some of the tension coiling her shoulders relaxed as it seemed like her haphazard plan would work after all. Sarela went to hop onto the gunner seat, and observed as Poe encouraged his astromerch droid, BB8 into position.

Then, BB8 let out a string of binary too fast for Sarela to parse, and Dameron was repeating in a dull voice her earlier command, "I'm taking her on the mission."

Tension racketed tenfold as Sarela heard another string of binary from the droid, whose orange and white body spun between the two of them in apparent confusion.

Despite whatever BB8 uttered, Dameron merely repeated the compulsion.

 _Kriff_.

Force compulsions would not work on droids.

The whirling astromech seemed to be coming to a conclusion regarding the state of his friend, and soon Sarela found herself facing down an angry ball of energy.

 _Kriff kriff kriff_.

Instinctively Sarela grabbed the astromech droid into a Force hold to prevent a bruising impact with her shins. Hold in place, Sarela kneeled before the spitting mad droid. "Please BB8, I swear I didn't hurt him. I truly mean your Master nor any of the Resistance any harm."

BB8 cocked his head slightly at her words, the mad spinning abating in perhaps curiosity.

Feeling slightly more hopeful, Sarela pleaded, "I just want to go to Jakku. I'm trying to find my parents. When we get there, we can part ways, no harm, no foul."

The domed head continued to whirl, but Sarela thought it was done less aggressively than before, actually considering her plea. BB8 chirped again in questioning tone.

However, Sarela shook her head. "Sorry, I never learned binary. But I give you my word. Just let me get to Jakku."

Hoping to test BB8's agreement, Sarela gingerly loosened her Force hold, and was relieved when the droid did not launch into attack at the return of his freedom. It seemed the droid was willing to go along.

Thinking to speed things along, Sarela hefted BB8 into the exterior socket, grunting at the effort, and then belted herself into the gunner seat.

Taking a deep breath to prep herself for one last compulsion, Sarela turned to Dameron, who had watched the exchange in troubled silence, ordering, "Let's go."

o-o-o-o-o-o

They were in hyperspace when the compulsion began to fade.

For a moment the sound of muttered cursing whited out the sound of her earpiece before a very controlled, angry voice told her dryly, "You know, if you _are_ an agent of the First Order, this was a fabulously stupid plan. Or I guess you just _really_ couldn't wait until I returned to fly."

Sarela winced at the bluntness of the statement, but couldn't really find it in her to contest it. "I'm not part of the First Order," she said instead.

Bitter laughter came through the earpiece. "You're right, the First Order tends to put their children into stormtrooper training, not poorly conceived stealth missions, even if they are Force users."

She had no good response for that.

At last Dameron sighed into the speaker. "Why, Sarela? Are you really trying to find your parents? Was that just a lie to convince BB8?"

"It was not a lie." She hesitated, wondering if there was any point in continuing the charade concocted by her grandmother. "But you were not told the truth of who I am."

"The truth."

"My grandparents wish to protect me, keep me on the base, coddled and hidden from the First Order."

"Your grandparents? But you were brought here by Han Solo..." She could feel the moment comprehension dawned in the shocked silence. "Your grandparents are the General and Han Solo."

Sarela nearly smiled at the patent disbelief, especially as Poe muttered, "The General is going to eviscerate me."

"I'll tell her it was my fault," she offered lamely, but Poe seemed to have moved on from this concern.

"Tell me one good reason I shouldn't turn this ship around right now. If you are who you say you are, hell, even if you aren't, having you along is not only a massive liability but will cause a meltdown on base."

Panic ran through her veins at the threat. "No please don't!" she blurted out. "I can order you to keep going!"

"Why haven't you then?" he snapped back blithely.

 _Because it makes me feel sick. Because you were kind and made me feel seen._ "I didn't want to," she replied lamely.

There was a beat, then Dameron said, "Well, why Jakku then? Do you understand what's happening here?"

"I won't get in your way. I just need to find my mother."

"Your mother. On Jakku." The deadpan conveyed everything Sarela needed to know of the pilot's thoughts on her plan. "This is kriffing insane," he muttered in an aside.

 _You have no idea_ , Sarela thought wryly.

"Here's what's going to happen."

Sarela perked up at the brisk change of tone, suddenly optimistic Dameron would come around.

"You will not speak. You will not move from my side. When I say run, you run."

Even as she opened up her mouth to chirp enthusiastically, "Not a problem," _anything to get Dameron to agree_ , Sarela chaffed at the unnecessary use of her time better spent looking for Rey. Although she was curious of the mysterious Luke Skywalker, who had died according to history at the hands of her father, and by overextending himself through the Force, according to her mother, the need to discover what she could about her mother eclipsed all else.

"The mission comes first. You will not run off to do as you please the moment I am distracted. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

There was a long sigh across her earpiece. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back home and have been meaning to update this but I've been absolutely exhausted from my own and my daughter's jetlag. Things are slowly getting back to normal and my brain feels almost ready to function again. Part of the reason for the delay is I have been agonizing my way through finishing the current arc, which I wanted done beforehand, and have a bit of writers block at the moment. Everything I'm writing right now feels crappy. Ugh. The next two chapters are complete, but I have the somewhat unrealistic hope that posting will inspire me to get through this. We'll see.  
> I'm also behind on comments, but I promise I will get to them this weekend!
> 
> As for the chapter...  
> For anyone wondering, I'm not planning a Sarela/Poe relationship, as amusing as Ben's reaction is to contemplate. ;)
> 
> Also, according to Wookiepedia, the Resistance only had one BTL-S3 Y-wing, which was apparently destroyed during a mission before the Force Awakens. Since it is the only two-seat starfighter, we are going to pretend that they had another one. ;)
> 
> Btw, does anyone know how to delete draft chapters? I have a duplicate of Han's chapter remaining as a draft for chapter 6
> 
> Thank you all so much!! And happy Friday :D


	8. A Woman, Awoken

Rey was drowning.

To be precise, the greatest amount of water she had ever seen in person was the water trough in Niima Outpost, and even that amount would have barely reached her knees, let alone enough to drown her.

But Rey imagined it would have felt like this. A suffocating pressure against her skin, her temple, burning through her chest.

Breath stuttered through overworked lungs, heartbeat pulsed an unsteady rhythm in tandem with an onslaught of sensations.

She could feel _everything_.

Ancient bodies rotating while moving in orbit around gaseous, burning stars. A black hole drawing star systems with an impersonal, but implacable voraciousness. Heat and matter echoing through the vacuum of space. And then, closer, the heartbeats of thousands of crew members, the echo of whispering thoughts, fleeting glimpses of emotions--boredom, hunger, even laughter.

Through the noise and tempest was a tether. One glimmering string that lit a path forward.

All else uncertain, Rey followed it to the pulsing, steady presence.

_Ben_.

"Wait!"

He had swept away in a flurry of heavy black cloak the moment the flighty officer finished his report, barking orders to prepare his ship and have a stormtrooper escort her to her chambers in that modulated timber.

She fucking hated it.

"Take me with you!"

"Don't be ridiculous. You have no weapon, can barely use the Force of your own volition."

Rey was too overwrought to listen to such explanations. Something had snapped within her, rendered her transformed, _connected_. And she would be damned if she let the one person who caused it all leave her behind. "I have my staff, I'm not weaponless. Give me a kriffing blaster if you are so concerned, but don't leave me here."

Ben or Kylo or whoever he was, stopped short at the desperation coloring her words, searching her gaze through the anonymous helmet.

As much as Rey despised the sight of it, she knew, instinctively, he was as distraught as she. Whatever urgent task was before him, the events which transpired between them had left him as rattled and raw as she.

"Rey."

The rasp of her name through the vocoder was heavy with untranslatable emotion.

" _Please_ , Kylo." Despite the nearly irrepressible desire to call him by that other name, Rey contained herself as she recalled his earlier ire.

"So be it. Come."

Kylo's agreement secured, Rey felt a measure of relief wash over the prickly unease and soothe her unsteady mental state, and she even remembered to pull the hood of her cloak as she followed Kylo through the corridors. Massive man that he was, Kylo ate up the impersonal, black hallways with powerful strides that Rey, not a short woman herself, struggled to keep apace.

They soon came to a hangar bay with a familiar Upsilon-class command shuttle in view, along with smaller craft.

However, Kylo seemed poised to bypass the command shuttle in favor of a TIE fighter Rey recognized as reminiscent of the classic Imperial TIE Interceptor, but with sleeker, elongated wings and body. The Scavenger who spent years climbing through Imperial ships and teaching herself on a salvaged flight simulator was momentarily excited at the prospect of flying such an exquisite craft ( _being flown_ , she reminded herself).

The fantasy was interrupted by the marching of synchronized booted feet from the entrance to the hanger, and an unnatural voice calling, "Sir."

Kylo froze at the title, turning with impatience to face the newcomers.

A squad of stormtroopers led by a towering trooper in an unusual, distinctive silver armor was approaching them.

"I do not require an escort, Captain." The irritation was obvious in Kylo's clipped words.

However, the stormtrooper Captain seemed unfazed by either words or tone. "The Supreme Leader has insisted that myself and a corp accompany you."

"This will cause a delay." Kylo ground out his displeasure.

Rey glanced from one to the other during this unexpected standoff, curious as to the apparent tension between Kylo and the Stormtrooper Captain. During her brief stay upon the _Finalizer_ , she had been given little liberty of movement thus far, and had encountered none but Kylo, except in passing.

"I took the liberty of ordering the command shuttle for readiness."

There was an awkward pause that felt longer than it probably was. "Very well, Captain."

Without further adieu, Kylo swept dramatically into the shuttle, Rey quick on his heels. As they entered the shuttle, moving past the passenger compartment into the main cabin, a flight officer pilot and copilot were already seated in the cockpit, the former of whom nodded at Kylo's approach, speaking brief acknowledgements. There was a command seat of polished black leather, but Kylo opted instead for two seats further away from the cockpit, and gestured to Rey so she would follow.

"Here."

It was a white and black blaster rifle longer than Rey's forearm, dropped unceremoniously in her hand, she would have spied in the hands of any Stormtrooper. Rey hefted the smooth plastic body, testing its weight, and found it to be surprisingly light.

"You know how to use one?"

Rey raised an eyebrow, her pride pricked at the question. "Yeah. You pull the trigger."

"A little bit more to it than that."

It was hard to tell through the voice modulator alone, but much as with displays of unease and irritation in the last twenty minutes, Rey could somehow sense his amusement as if it were her own. _The Force?_ she wondered. "I think I can handle myself."

"I know you do. That's why I'm giving it to you."

A reluctant smile twitched her lips at that rejoinder. Rey supposed she couldn't argue with that.

"Rey. We need to talk about what is going to happen." His voice had dropped significantly, a murmur sufficiently indistinct to avoid being overheard by the pilot and copilot.

Rey straightened automatically. Caught in the distressing tide of heightened awareness and her own ruffled emotions, she had not given much thought to what had precipitated these turn in events. Hesitantly, she asked, "This is about the Resistance?" 

It was an uncomfortable thought for Rey. Like others on Jakku, Rey had grown up hearing tales at the Outpost of the heroes of the Rebellion, Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia Organa, and Han Solo, and of the mysterious Force and the dark Empire. Even if those stories seemed as much a myth as the folktales passed around by the Tribes of the Plaintive Hand, they had captured the wonder of a girl accustomed to a hard scrabble existence. When news of the brewing conflict between the Resistance and the First Order trickled into the Outpost via traders and smugglers of all ilk, it had felt very removed, just another layer to those older tales with a fresh coat of paint. She recalled her excitement, as if a lifetime ago, of hearing the Millennium Falcon had been on Jakku, and subsequently stolen just before Kylo came for her.

" _The Resistance_." There was unmistakable distaste in Kylo's rumble. 

Rey waited in silence, unsure of her own feelings on the matter, let alone how to voice them.

Seeming to warm to the subject, Kylo continued. "Liars, murderers, and hypocrites."

Raising an indignant eyebrow, Rey challenged, "And the First Order are not?"

"The Resistance claims to uphold democracy and lofty ideals, but they are merely an unlawful gang of mercenaries stirring up discontent in a losing cause." Kylo's retort came hot and sneering, to be expected of a member of the First Order, but charged with a simmering resentment that felt oddly _personal_. "They prop up a decaying institution that has long benefited only the Core Worlds, and mouth rhetoric to excuse murder and vandalism. The First Order's methods are not always...gentle, but they make no excuses for who they are."

The hateful words set a fire in Rey's belly, but it was a fury without direction, unsupported by knowledge of government or counterarguments. Surely a dictatorship, whether that be Unkar Plut ruling over the Outpost or Supreme Leader Snoke over the First Order, was supposed to be bad? But what did Rey know of the world outside of Jakku? Of politics or moral grayness. Rey could not deny that she had rarely heard of the Republic doing anything of value, and the notion of the Republic intervening on Jakku would be laughable.

Disheartened, Rey shrugged. "I had not taken you for a zealot."

Perhaps sensing her unease, Kylo brought a gloved hand over hers. In spite of herself, Rey felt instantly relieved at the touch. "Rey. When Skywalker has been dealt with, you will take your place at my side. You will never feel powerless again. You will never be alone again."

Tears prickled her eyes. How could this beautiful disaster of a man both horrify her and sear her heart in an instant? How could he know any of it? The years of agonized waiting, lean months, suffering through injury in pained silence, freezing nights and blistering days with no end.

There was a hissing sound of release, and Kylo was pulling the helmet off and boring down on her with his bare, pale face. His warm, brandy-hued eyes carried an intensity of emotion that made her tremble. "Don't be afraid, I feel it too. We share a connection now, Rey. When you fell into my mind, I saw into you, and you saw into me. The parents who abandoned you. The lonely years of hardship. I swear I will never do the same."

The earnestness on his sensitive, beautiful face told Rey he meant every word, the incidentally cruel as well as the declarations of devotion. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed all over again--less from the supernatural Force and more from the very human conundrum before her. Instead of voicing any of this anguish, Rey asked, "Why are you looking for Luke Skywalker?"

Kylo reacted to her question like absorbing a blow--disappointment and tension rolling from him in waves, though he was quick to answer. "He was my Master, once. A relic of a vanquished Order. I must end him--let the past die, and complete my training."

Desperation clawed through her throat in search of words that would move him. "Why must it die? The Resistance, Luke Skywalker. Can't you understand why it's wrong?”

His lip trembled, in fury, in hurt. "They abandoned me first."

"They...?"

It was clear from Kylo's taut lips and red eyes that he would lash out rather than answer--much like an angry child. Whatever Kylo's arguments and justifications, it was clear to Rey this wound cut deep. It was personal, not ideological. Rey reflected upon Kylo's words-- _I saw into you, and you saw into me._

_I saw, didn't I?_

A small child with unruly black hair, embraced by a graceful woman in white. A tall man, cocksure and smirking as he hefted the boy into the air, "I'll be back before you know it, kid." A bearded man in black and gray robes looked down sternly upon the same boy, now grow into a youth: "You must learn control, Ben."

"They're your family."

"Rey." A soft, menacing warning.

"Your Uncle," she breathed, unheeding, fear and horror born anew. "You would kill your own family. That's..."

Kylo met her gaze unflinching, defiant in his anguish. "Say it."

Her heartbeat was roaring in her eardrum, beneath that condemning glare. "Monstrous."

_How does it feel to be fucked by a Monster?_

The voice from her dream mocked her.

_How did you think this was going to end, Rey?_

They were locked in a standstill, Kylo's hurt buffeted her in punishing waves, while tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Sir?"

The Flight officer was carefully looking away, even as he addressed Kylo in a respectful tone. The moment broken, Kylo hastily replaced the black and chrome helmet, once again donning the guise of a Monster.

"Yes?" The guttural rasp of the modulated voice made Rey's pulse twitch.

"We are about to make planetfall on Jakku."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit later than I was planning and a short chapter, but the next two chapters/arc are a bit of a monster. I'm _finally_ , whew, almost finished the chapter I've been stuck on (the one after the next one), which is why I am letting myself post this. 😂
> 
> When this chapter is out of the way, hopefully I'll be over my writing congestion.


	9. Tuanul Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :)  
> The next couple chapters are going to be a little different. There will be switches between multiple viewpoints as our cast descends into one place.

_The Daughter_

The moment the ancient Y-wing touched down into the arid chill of Jakku night, she knew Dameron's words would be prophetic.

A foreboding air weighed her down with the sixth sense Sarela had grown accustomed to recognizing as the steady presence of the Force.

Despite her promises to Dameron, Sarela had had every intention of absconding into the night the moment his back was turned, maybe using the Force compulsion to keep him from following as she searched for Rey.

The shroud of wariness prickling her senses, however, made her hesitate.

As one newly awakened to its power, Sarela had learned to obey the whims of the Force. Opening herself to the possibilities awaiting her had been instinctive--the mechanics of Time travel were beyond any of her conceptual understanding, and yet it was there, in her mind, the moment she needed it.

The nature of the threat as yet unknown, Sarela stuck to Dameron and BB8, as they made their way to a long and narrow compound, illuminated by torchlight. Up close, the building appeared primitive in nature, with walls made of packed clay, and what metals came into sight, seemed salvaged, as was much of the infrastructure on Jakku.

Sarela maintained her silence as they were led into the compound by a young man in gray brown robes, a queasy sort of dread turning her stomach.

_Lor San Tekka._

In historical holos of the war, in the condemning gazes of others as she grew up, Lor San Tekka had been merely one of many victims attributed to her father. Considering those to follow, Sarela had never given the name much thought. And yet Dameron's mind had revealed San Tekka was the key to finding Luke Skywalker, another of her father's alleged victims.

_Did father believe their deaths to be justified, too?_ she wondered, as the young man led them to a curtained door of earthen dyed linens.

"Remember, I'll do the talking," Dameron murmured, just before they stepped inside.

An old man bearing a short beard gone to frost and a rugged, gentle face stood as they entered. A weary smile creased the weathered face, as sharp blue eyes passed from Dameron to herself.

"It's good of you to come, Captain. Although I had not anticipated a companion."

Dameron flushed slightly, mumbling to himself, "I hadn't either. But you could say she has a _personal_ connection to those involved."

While Dameron babbled, Sarela found herself meeting those curious, kind eyes. 

"This one has seen a great deal, I think," San Tekka commented with a smile, gesturing with robed arms spread to enter the warm chamber more fully, and toward leather backed chairs. "The Force moves in mysterious ways."

Startled by the old man's odd tone and words, Sarela found herself blurting out, "Are you a Force sensitive?"

At her side, Dameron was demanding in a low tone, "What did I _just_ say?" but San Tekka merely chuckled.

"No, my child. Just an old explorer, who has walked many odd paths in this life, as guided by the Force. It's an old friend of mine, who has that claim."

"Luke Skywalker."

Those blue eyes twinkled. "Indeed."

Dameron sighed in apparent resignation.

Sarela pondered the reclusive Jedi for a moment (ignoring Poe and his grumbling), her great Uncle after a fashion. "Is he really as powerful as they say?"

"My dear, he is a man like any other, albeit he has brought more good to this Galaxy than most. Even an old, Force blind fool like myself can feel Darkness rising. Only with Skywalker's return can there be true balance." San Tekka trembled, fear and grief emanating from him in waves.

"Balance," Sarela murmured, gazing down at her clenched hands. "Is such a thing even possible? When the Darkness wishes to smother the Light, and the Light seeks to deny the Dark."

There was the sound of a throat clearing loudly, Dameron caught between fidgeting impatiently and glancing toward the door. "This philosophical discussion is all very interesting, but perhaps we can move on to the matter at hand."

San Tekka bowed in acknowledgement. "Apologies, Captain. I owe the Princess a great deal. I will not keep you unduly." He reached inside the rough spun cloak, pulling from its depths a small leather sack, which he placed reverently into Dameron's waiting palm. "Guard this Captain. Our hopes, and hopes of the galaxy go with it."

A relieved smile creased Dameron's lips and he seemed visibly moved by San Tekka's words. "Believe me, I will. Because of you now we have a chance. The General's been after this for a long time."

But San Tekka did not move his hand away. "There will be others seeking this information, Captain. May you go swiftly, and safely."

Dameron's amber eyes hardened at the reminder. "The First Order."

San Tekka simply nodded. "As so."

The precious intel in hand, Dameron was impatient to be off, already to his feet and inching to the door, but Sarela felt an discomforting churning in her gut under the old man's savvy gaze.

"Can I have a moment?" she whispered to Dameron, who nodded reluctantly and moved to stand by the door.

Although she approached with caution, mind turning over how to put words to her jumbled thoughts, San Tekka beat her to the first word.

"There is much of your father in you, Child. I pray the Force will guide you in your path ahead."

Sarela gasped, and glanced toward Dameron, who had not seemed to follow their exchange closely.

"He does not know Ben Solo, but I knew him well once."

"I thought you said you don't have the Force." The question came out with more accusation than she intended.

San Tekka chuckled again. "There's no Force at play here. Our young Captain said you have a personal connection to Skywalker. But I knew your father as a young man. I can see both men in you."

"Oh." Sarela pondered this revelation. Although her grandparents had implied the resemblance to her father, no one had mentioned any similarities to Luke Skywalker. She hesitated before voicing the next question, trembling on the edge of her tongue. It was different, somehow, to ask someone besides Mother, grandmother or grandfather. "Is the Dark evil? Is my father evil?" _Am I evil?_

"These are heavy questions, my dear," San Tekka replied with a gravelly sigh. "I wish I had the wisdom to ease your burdens. You know that the Church arose in dark times, after the Empire rooted out the Jedi Order, and banned religious organizations. We took up the mantle left behind by the vanquished order, to meditate on the Will of the Force, to seek Balance. The nature of the Force is beyond my blind senses. It is only with hope that I say, your father is not yet gone. You must be that Hope, that Light for him."

Sarela shook her head, despairingly. "I can't. I'm no light. My hands aren't clean."

"Then let love guide you. I will pray for you, child." The old man studied her a moment, before seeming to come to a decision. Standing to open a wooden chest pressed against the far wall, San Tekka rummaged through its depths beneath her curious gaze, until coming to his feet slowly. Wordlessly, he crossed the room, an odd, bronze disk of what appeared to be crude construction tied with a length of string within his hands.

"Take this child." San Tekka drew the string into a rough knot and placed the object around her neck. It felt surprisingly light brushing the dark fabric of her tunic. "It was the Force that guided you here. Let it guide you now."

But the moment for contemplation was over. Poe came rushing into the chamber, a grim urgency tightening his features, with BB8 a rolling, beeping ball of energy hot on his heels. "We've got company."

"No," she whispered.

A familiar, crackling ebony presence brushed her senses.

" _Father_."

o-o-o-o-o-o

Sarela was not so much breathing as choking down air with grim determination. _Father father father_.

The still desert night was broken by muffled shouts and stamping feet as villagers armed with crude blasters took positions about the encampment.

San Tekka had ordered them to leave, prioritizing the blasted map over his own safety, and for once Poe agreed with the discreet exit, shuffling her along, despite desperate, vociferous protests, to their awaiting Y-wing.

"I don't _care_ who it is, the First Order found us and the General will have my head if let you fling yourself into danger."

Sarela was a tall girl, but she was no match against Dameron's strength as he hauled her bodily into the gunner seat. Huffing in frustration, Sarela briefly considered a right hook to gain the pilot's attention, however she still felt guilty over the earlier Force compulsion and opted for peaceful methods. 

"Poe!" she screeched. It was an undignified tone, but the pilot at least spared her a wincing glare. "Only _I_ can stop him! You have to let me try."

"Stop who?"

"Kylo Ren! He's my father!"

"What do you mean Kylo Ren is your father? The shock must be getting to you." The last was spoken in an aside, as Poe manned up the hyperdrive.

A terrifying vessel of black durasteel, shaped like a loth-bat was descending rapidly, and the decision was made before Sarela stopped to consider it further. The Force hold had Dameron locked in place before he could rev the engines into flight. Sparing him a remorseful glance, she whispered, "I'm sorry Poe." And sped into the night.

o-o-o-o-o-o

_The Father_

Monster.

Jedi Killer.

Murderer

It was nothing he had not heard or seen in the minds of others before now

But it was different from this woman. A slip of a thing, barely out of girlhood, hardened by a cruel life.

No, her condemnation cut in a place he had long believed deadened to further hurt.

Giving in to a deluge of pain and anger was second nature to Kylo. And with it, power flooded his being, electric and volatile, overtook the confines of his body and mind like a hit of spice. He was a livewire grimly focused on the task ahead.

"Let's go."

Stormtroopers stood in formation before the ramp, blasters at the ready, and Captain Phasma nodded at his approach. Kylo supposed Phasma would have had the troopers head in first, blasters hot and ready to send a message, but he was impatient to unleash the burning fury within. Brushing past the white armored troopers, Kylo growled with the full intention of being obeyed: "Follow my lead."

He was barely aware of Rey rushing to his side, as the ramp lowered upon the sandy ground.

"Kylo," she hissed, watching the ramp open. "I know this village. Tuanul is peaceful. Don't hurt anyone!"

Kylo gritted his teeth beneath the mask, unwillingly softening at her continued presence at his side. "I will do what I must." It was not quite a promise, but it was as much as Kylo was willing to compromise before his soldiers.

"Hold your fire, but have your blasters ready," he stated flatly as he descended.

Rey's anxiety had been buffeting his shields at a racketing frequency, but she quieted slightly at his words.

The village was awake and Kylo sensed several marksmen with Clone and Rebellion Era blasters, held in fearful, unskilled hands, and a sort of resigned determination.

The Dark simmered his blood at the sight of their weak, pathetic defense, but Kylo had no _personal_ animosity for these weak, Light side worshippers, foolish adherents to the Force, while blindly denying its more powerful, counterpart as taught by the long dead Jedi. Kylo was capable of benevolence, and if such was unsuccessful, more invasive applications of the Force could be pursued.

Ignoring, no, _unshaken_ by Rey's shining presence, Kylo sauntered into the village proper, and heard the steady march of the troopers fanning out by his side.

"Greetings," he drawled, some his rage ebbing into bitter amusement at attempting a _diplomatic_ approach. Leia would be so proud. "There need not be bloodshed this night. Have Lor San Tekka come before us and we will leave peaceably."

Kylo watched his words land upon the defiant villagers, on the careworn faces of grizzled elders who lived through war, for whom idealist causes had lost the gleaming veneer after experiencing loss and grief. For a moment he thought Rey's "No one hurt" policy could be satisfied. But there were always hotblooded youth, unwilling to stand down in the face of great odds.

A furious shout of garbled words or perhaps simply an incoherent roar interrupted the tension, and a poorly aimed blaster shot rang out.

And with it, the lid on the simmering pot was blown away.

Kylo immediately flicked a lazy hand forward to block the blasterbolt. Simultaneously, behind him the stormtrooper corp reacted in line with their training and his order, retaliating with blasterfire to the young villager's shot, which roused the remaining armed villagers into action. Perhaps it was mere seconds of chaotic exchanges, in which shots undoubtably connected with warm bodies, when a high pitched scream tore through his mental barriers like butter, and the world froze.

Stormtroopers, villagers, blaster bolts--all were paralyzed by a pulsing, golden net.

For a moment, astounded by the display of Force power, Kylo thought himself similarly bound. However, the heavy rise and fall of his chest in time with his heart speeding through a rapid tempo, belied this supposition. With this clarity, Kylo turned warily, struck by a sudden weariness, for the source of this display.

Rey, red faced and straining, had her arms outstretched, the hood of her cloak fallen down to reveal her pained tears. The golden thread between them felt stretched thin, as Rey pulled and pulled on the Force with desperation. It was as if she had taken the simple hold he had used upon the hapless villager, and ruthlessly extended it to cover many more. But that extension, while simpler, had Rey burning through her own reserve of energy, on top of the strain of their earlier encounter, only a couple hours earlier.

_Rey, you have to let go. It's too much power. Too many people at once._

"I can't. They'll die." Despite the obvious pain, his desert rat was fiercely determined.

_Then redirect it. Feel the energy of the blaster bolts, and allow them to turn. Then, release._

Frustration and hope in equal measure came across the connection, and the taut, golden net began to shift gingerly, in fits and spurts--and the flow of energy was coursing out into the night sky.

Breath and heart fully occupied in Rey, Kylo was only peripherally aware of the stormtroopers and armed villagers regaining use of their bodies, if not their mental faculties. Bewilderment and awe seemed to have paralyzed them as effectively as the Force.

Mind still dazzled in soft thoughts, the rage and hurt from earlier had mostly fizzled away. Forcing himself to take charge of the spectacle, Kylo addressed the villagers again. "Spare yourselves further losses, and have San Tekka appear before us now."

Even amongst the most grizzled veterans, naked hatred radiated in the torchlight. "The First Order is not known for mercy." The gruff voice of a deeply scarred man crouched behind a condensing unit called out at last. "And the Dark side even less."

Kylo narrowed his eyes at that jibe, but could admittedly find little to challenge the substance of it. "I think you will find the Darkness has its mercy and the Light its own brand of cruelty."

"Are those the teachings of the Supreme Leader?"

The assembled turned in comical unity to the hobbling, white haired old man making his way from the compound to stand amongst them. Kylo smirked in satisfaction at San Tekka's appearance. Perhaps Rey's suggestion had merit after all. A threat of violence was as effective as its use in some situations.

Pleased at the small victory, Kylo considered San Tekka's provocation, obviously meant to get a rise out of him. The old man had been a good friend of his Un--Skywalker, and had alternated between speaking to him kindly as a sullen boy and ribbing him goodnaturedly with an irreverence on par with Han Solo. Years ago San Tekka had seemed old to the undiscerning eyes of a boy, but the man was practically decrepit in comparison to his memories.

"Not at all," he replied in a mild tone. "The Supreme Leader has no use for the Light, cruel or otherwise." And in response to a compulsion he was growing ever helpless to, Kylo turned to Rey, taking in her wide hazel eyes and burning curiosity. "I have a different opinion."

Distracted as he was by Rey's confusion swimming in their connection, and then the slow blush blooming across her cheeks, Kylo failed to see the impact of his words upon San Tekka.

"A surprising change of heart for the man who destroyed the Jedi Temple."

Fury was birthed rampant and virulent at the reminder, yet again, of the hypocrisy of the sainted Luke Skywalker--a coward hidden away from the world and yet revered across the Galaxy. "I think you will find my thoughts on that man quite unchanged." Willing himself to calmness, Kylo focused on the objective. "You know what I've come for."

San Tekka had the audacity to raise a chiding brow. "I know where you come from. Before you called yourself Kylo Ren."

A muscle twitched near his brow at the old man's goading tone and blithe unconcern for airing his dirty laundry. Willfully suppressing Rey's excitement from encroaching on his attention--the girl was undoubtably very interested in listening to whatever history San Tekka divulged--Kylo bulldozed onward, "The map to Skywalker. You will give it to me now."

For a moment, the confident facade faded away, and true desperation shown through the eyes of a weak old man. "The First Order rose from the Dark side, _you did not_. It's not too late, my boy."

"That boy is dead, old man. And the Light with him."

Even in despair, the old man was defiant. Shaking his wintered temple, San Tekka retorted, "You may try, but you cannot deny the truth that is your family."

Perhaps it was fury at yet another barb over his past--the irritable probing of an unhealed, festering wound, or fear over these dangerous revelations compromising his position before Phasma and her soldiers.

_Strike him down now_ , the Dark hissed. _He questions you with impunity, he sows suspicion among your troops. Danger to you, danger to Rey._ And another voice, gruff and affectionate, _Sometimes it's better to get the drop on someone before they get you, kid. Better safe than dead._

The Force was inky and turbulent in his eardrums--drowning out albeit not erasing the golden tether to Rey's warm presence. His crude but powerful blade--soldered and fashioned with his on blunt fingers from a cracked crystal and agony--was ignited and gripped in his hand. It felt _right_ , powerful.

_Strike him now._

_Forgive me, Rey._

"You are so right."

As the blade fell in a crimson arch, a blood curdling scream rent the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter we are heading into TFA timeline...yay!
> 
> I have to admit this arc has been very challenging to write, and I hope I am successful in carrying out the characterizations of our main cast. At the very least, I am finally ready to post it.
> 
> RL has been really crazy lately. My daughter is turning one year old this Thursday (obviously a good thing 😉 😅) but there have been huge upheavals at work recently so I feel like I'm being bulldozed on double fronts. I'm not sure yet how this will affect my writing, but hopefully not too much.
> 
> On a happier note, has everyone bought tickets for RofS yet? Tickets don't go on sale until Dec 4 in Japan, so I haven't yet. My husband isn't much of a fan, but he has agreed to take off work with me so we can see it on the 20th while our baby is in daycare _and_ to go to the ridiculously expensive pop up Star Wars Cafe with me. 😊 They have Kylo Ren pasta. It looks _delightfully_ silly. 😂   
> If anyone is curious, here's an English link https://www.moshimoshi-nippon.jp/270407


	10. Tuanul Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II is here!

_Forgive me, Rey._

The deep voice echoed in her mind, fury and resignation weighting the words in warning of the violence to be unleashed. Even as she watched, caught in a sudden paralysis, as the unsteady beam cut through unresisting flesh with efficient ruthlessness.

Rey had been running on adrenaline for what felt like hours. The scrumptious breakfast on the _Finalizer_ of fresh breads and actual fruits, untold luxury to one accustomed to surviving on a portion once a day, if at all, provided by her surprisingly solicitous captor, may as well have been another lifetime ago.

Energy flagging, faculties sluggish beneath physical, mental and emotional battery, Rey struggled to make sense of the feelings and thoughts flooding her mind.

The old man, San Tekka, had been a stranger to Rey, but she had heard his name spoken around the Outpost, an eccentric old explorer living in Tuanul. The settlement discreetly known to be a sanctuary of the Church of the Force.

She felt...horror. She _should_ feel horror.

An old man who did her no harm. His death was cruel. Wrong. Rey knew this.

To be cut down so cruelly by the man in the enigmatic black mask. These were the actions of the Monster she had named him. Whatever willingness to spare life he had displayed earlier, Rey should take this as mere confirmation of his true nature, harden her heart to the strange volatile feelings that had never truly been hatred.

And yet it was the bitterness of anguish, of disappointment which twisted her. 

He _dared_ to ask her forgiveness.

And beneath this tempest, a darker strain of something heavy and potent encroached upon her mind. Helpless fury, a desperate fear for another's sake--these emotions did not originate in the place she recognized as Rey, but they were familiar nonetheless. The little girl etching a cruel existence on this desolate planet had been baptized in the former. The latter, well, Rey would not think of that now.

Ben _knew_ him. A surly teenager with a mop of sable curls and white robes had frowned uncertainly at a younger San Tekka with thinning gray hair and roguish grin, and accepted a notebook of worn blue leather. The memory was not hers. Some part of her, perhaps originating from this strange connection between them, had plucked the knowledge from his mind for it to settle within her own with unnatural seamlessness.

Inundated with a chaotic mess of feelings belonging to Ben and Rey alike, she watched as the frail body slumped to the arid, packed sand, the stench of bitter ozone and burnt flesh carried on the slight breeze. It was then the horrifying, demented screech tore Rey from her stupor.

The slender figure cloaked in black charged across the sand and quickly blew past the Stormtrooper corp like decommissioned droids rather than elite soldiers of the First Order.

No. It couldn't be.

Lips like spilled blood. Eyes the color of the hydrated copper and aluminum fracture Rey had come across deep within the Fallen Teeth, called _firuzeh_ by the Tribes, and turquoise by the traders in the Outpost.

As beautiful as her father, and as devastating as a supernova.

"Sarela." The words passed her lips breathlessly, reverently.

She was no fever dream, no mirage to vanish over the next sand dune, no faint memory of family that would return one day.

And furious grief twisted those delicate features as she barreled toward Kylo armed with nothing but clenched fists. "How could you?"

"Don't do something you'll regret--".

Bitter laughter with the sharpness of a vibroblade answered Kylo's soft warning. "That's rich coming from you."

Kylo's eyes narrowed at the challenge, but otherwise did not react to the provocation. "Come with me now. We can discuss this later."

Sarela cocked her head to the side, eyes glittering feverishly. "No."

"Sarela--" Kylo's words were quickly cut off as the girl gave a flick of her wrist, seeming to target her father's blade, held unignited at his side. "Don't be foolish," Kylo snarled.

Darkside warrior and Master of the Knights of Ren, Kylo was no doubt a powerful man and a skilled fighter. And yet Rey watched as the black hilt shook within its master's firm leather grip, before being wrenched away with supernatural force through the air. Watched as the blade sailed, wildly, improbably, into slender, outstretched fingers, a hairbreadth from singeing Sarela's black hood.

An unwieldy downward swipe from the stolen blade, clumsy from rage or inexperience or likely both, was quickly sidestepped by Kylo's hulking form. Weaponless though he was, Kylo was a veteran of many bouts, his large body flowing away from the lethal, crackling beam with an enviable grace. Effortless though his movements seemed and as furious as she was, alarm and admiration in equal measure had Rey gripping her staff ready to intervene at any moment.

Around them, the stormtroopers gripped their blasters in obvious readiness, but given Sarela's proximity to their leader, a clear shot was impossible. Rey eyed them with agitation, ready to stop any loose blasterbolts, despite her earlier taxing attempt.

Just barely dodging another slash, Kylo barked a sharp order to his men. "Hold your fire!"

Watching helplessly never being her forte, Rey sought once more the Force. It hummed to life within her mind, eager to answer her call, bringing form to the contradiction of crackling heat and solemn aloofness that she had come to associate with Kylo's presence in the Force. But in the place Sarela made another, desperate charge, sable locks turned copper in the crimson blade's unsteady illumination, there was nothing.

Not a flicker of a Force signature. No rapid heartbeat. No harsh respiration.

And Rey _pushed_.

There was no grace to it. No finesse to cushion her fall. The blast of Force energy had Sarela flown across the sand like a spitting, snarling lothcat, while the saber dropped to the ground.

Rey's feet were moving before really thinking it through. But _kriff_ it. Abiding by her instincts had never strayed Rey wrong.

"Hold your fire!"

Ignoring both the flare of agitation from Ben and the uneasy shuffling of the stormtroopers reluctantly abiding by their orders, Rey stood before the girl sprawled listlessly upon the sandy ground.

Young. So young.

Purple bruised the fair skin beneath long lashes, lips trembled with so much hurt and anger it had no choice but to spill over her face.

She watched as the girl took her in, at first confusion then hope dawning over the smog of misery. "Mum?"

_Right._ That.

It was harder now, confronted with those cheekbones and stubborn jaw, to deny the connection between them. The unlikelihood of her tale, the absurdity of being only three years older than her daughter--Rey could cling to these footholds of doubt, or accept her story, accept her.

There was never really any other choice.

Shaky legs lowered to the ground. A thick swallow against a desert dry throat. "I'm here. You can stop fighting now."

The words sounded tentative to her own hers, and yet a choked sob escaped the prone girl as if it was the absolution she had been waiting for.

And Rey knew all about waiting for family.

Just having gathered the girl into her arms, shouting in the distance had Rey's shoulders tensing.

The shouts were coming from the perimeter of the village, and soon the disturbance was joined by the sound of plastoid clanking as two stormtroopers led a soldier in a pilot's jacket and cuffs to the forefront.

"We found him trying to intervene. Took down two of our soldiers. We found his ship, a BTL-S3 Y-wing."

The man was clean shaven and handsome, with a bruised lip clearly on the receiving end of violence, and his eyes darted from Sarela huddled despondently in Rey's arms and Kylo arrayed in his fearsome armor. Despite the restraints, he did not seem in the least subdued, a smirk working its way over the bruised lips. Somehow, Rey knew the confidence was only a facade, he was scared. _Scared for Sarela?_ she wondered, considering his glances toward the girl.

"So who talks first? You talk first?"

His voice was a pleasant one, despite the bravado, but Kylo seemed little charmed, looming over the soldier menacingly. "The old man gave it to you."

The man waved a cuffed hand in a rough manner, which confused Rey, until he spoke again. "It's just very hard to understand you with all the..."

Within her arms, Sarela stirred restlessly, a low murmur barely imperceptible, "Poe, don't--"

Rey's anger with Kylo aside, she could see the strain in his long frame, and more reluctantly, felt his impatience and desire to finish whatever was occurring through the connection between them. With a jerky nod to the stormtroopers, Kylo barked, "Search him."

"--apparatus." The man was pulled roughly by gloved hands, and the stormtroopers conducted a thorough, and undoubtably brutal pat down. Whatever purpose to their search, however, it was clearly not discovered.

"Nothing, sir."

For a moment Kylo merely stared at the stranger, then gave a weary sigh. "Put him on board."

"Father--!"

"Wait!"

Two voices rang at once, Sarela's reedy and fortunately unlikely to have carried far, and the surrounding troopers and Kylo alike fixated instead on the defiant soldier, albeit impatiently.

"Let her go," the soldier demanded. "She's no one important."

Again Sarela shifted within her arms, struggling to free herself. "Poe, don't--." Thinking quickly, Rey shoved a hand over Sarela's mouth. Whatever complexities the last hour brought to her arrangement with Kylo, Rey knew that Sarela's impulsiveness and unknown loyalties could only bring trouble in front of the First Order.

Kylo affected to ignore the soldier, merely nodding to the troopers, who dragged the man away.

As the troopers led the man away, still yelling his disapproval, Kylo seemed to sag slightly, when a familiar distorted voice spoke.

"And the girl, Sir?"

In the tumultuous hour since entering Tuanul, Rey had managed to forget about the silver armored Captain. The towering Captain loomed forward like a mechanical specter, coldly forbidding in a way that was similar yet different from Ben's Kylo Ren personae. Unlike Kylo, the Captain's mask felt more machine than beast. Rey tensed at once, but Kylo had an answer ready. "I shall personally take charge of her."

The chromed Captain nodded precisely, but still lingered, arousing Rey's temper. She gripped the borrowed blaster tightly. Rey was a survivor, and knew to be ready to take any action at any time.

She knew she would kill if she needed to. To protect Sarela. To get them out of there alive.

But the Captain's concern alighted elsewhere. "Sir, the villagers."

Rey could feel the spike of unease, but Kylo's hesitation spoke loudly enough.

"Their leader is dead. And there is no need to kill them."

It was only after the assembled--troopers, Captain and Kylo alike--fixated identical faceless, yet dumbfounded expressions upon her that Rey realized she was on her feet and the words had exited her very own mouth.

The chrome helmet regarded her a moment, silence speaking volumes. "And you are?"

_No one._ The words, whispered by that treacherous voice, the one which spoke at her darkest moments, alone in her AT-AT surrounded by harrowing sandstorms struggling to keep the loneliness at bay, made her falter. The righteous fury flickered slightly, but her gaze shifted to Sarela's defeated, pale face, now taut with worry as she met her eyes. It gave her the strength to raise her chin before the Captain. "Rey."

"My apprentice." Kylo chose this moment to intervene, the low vibrato carrying an unspoken menace. "You have your orders, Captain."

The Captain was very still for an uncomfortable length of time, as if she and Kylo held some sort of battle of wills. At last she made a jerky nod. "Sir."

Awaiting stormtroopers were obviously accustomed to the eeriness of having objects in hand, in this case, prisoner cuffs, float speedily away and into Rey's own. Rey glared Kylo, whose implacable black mask brooked no refusal.

_Cuff her. For appearances’ sake._

There was sense in the suggestion, but Rey resented both the necessity and the bite of command in that mental voice.

_You know she'd prefer you to do it._

_Get out of my head._ Aware of the eyes upon her, especially in light of Kylo's announcement, Rey drew Sarela to her feet and strapped the cuffs gently around the girl's wrists.

Whatever fire had coursed through the girl's veins earlier was quite extinguished, as she merely held herself limply and accepted the cuffs.

The stormtroopers who stood perfunctorily to the side, as if waiting to accompany Sarela to the brig, took a half step back at the look of venom Rey rained upon them. "I do not require your assistance. The prisoner is with me."

Fortunately, Kylo nodded a brusque instruction sparing her the spotlight, and with Sarela in tow, Rey followed him as he swept up the ramp to the command shuttle. The sound of clanking armor and Captain's precise commands to the troopers in their wake, Rey began to plan.

o-o-o-o-o-o

_"She passed in her sleep. Coroner believes she didn't feel any pain..."_

Lies.

_The inadequate mumbling of the guard passed over her, barely penetrating the numbness that had overtaken her from the moment she woke. There was no softening the blow, no explanations which would mitigate the aching wound in her heart._

_Her mother was dead._

_"..wracked with illness. To prevent the spread, her body was cremated immediately...Her effects will be brought to you after inspection has been completed."_

Lies.

_The nudging little voice, that pulse in the back of her mind, that awareness which had awoken--stubbornly pressed for attention with inopportune whispers._

_"We are sorry for your loss."_

Lies.

_"Lies."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_Despite haven given voice to the insistent whispers, the feeling only surged in intensity, flowing through her body like an electric current, burning through the vestiges of tears._

_"You are lying." Perhaps a bit of vicious pleasure colored the flat enunciation._

_"What? Ungrateful brat. How dare you--"_

_How simple it was, how_ right. _Raising the cur in an iron grasp, and with only a delicate tightening of her fingers, airflow through the trachea was cut off._

_"P-please--"_

_The next step was, if possible, even easier. Infiltrating his mind, flipping through surface memories which reeked like a rotten organ. The damning thoughts, the sickening images._

_Rage was a tame description of the virulence which pumped within. It whited out rational thought, it called upon that awaiting current, drew on some ancient instinct. She let it flow through her, explode from her clenched fists and into this monster masquerading as a person._

_The possibilities were endless--should she send the crackling energy through his body, in an excruciating torture? Or split capillaries in his brain like overripe grapes?_

_The body rippled like a rag doll, letting out screams that barely quenched the fever that overtook her._

_When she released him, a pathetic whimper left his lips. "Please..."_

_"You cannot die yet." The words were flat, inhuman even. The room seemed to tilt out of focus. Were her arms trembling? "I need you to suffer first."_

_His eyes were white rimmed and blank with fear. The cold stench of urine filled her nostrils.  
"You're a monster. Like Him." _

_"No," she hissed. There was a saber in her hand. A crackling, unstable beam that hummed its discontent and lust for violence._

_But he couldn't seem to hear her. Eyes glazed and lost in his own mind. "Monster. Monster. Monster."_

_"Shut up!" The scream did nothing to penetrate the haunting mantra. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"_

_With a cry of agony, she charged forward with the crimson saber, and brought down the blade with all her strength._

_The mantra came to a stop._

_Chest heaving and hand trembling so much that the blade fell from her grasp, she turned slowly to check the body._

_The erratic pounding of her heart froze._

_An old man with a frosted beard and sightless ice blue eyes stared at the ceiling._

_Her lips parted in a scream._

"Sarela? Sarela!"

Sarela was jerked to awareness by ungentle shaking and a tanned face pinched with worry that gradually came into focus.

_Mother. Rey._

The surroundings of lustrous black durasteel gained clarity more slowly, and the stormtrooper guard in their pristine white armor stared dutifully into the space, but did not meet her eyes.

Black gleaming walls, black leather seats, smooth, precise lines and military austerity, high collars and leather gloves. And _He_ was the worst of all. Draped in black from head to toe with that dramatic helmet like an unfeeling monster.

It could not be said that the First Order did not know how to choose an aesthetic and stick with it.

Sarela turned back to Rey, who was watching her with a tight expression that was familiar yet exceedingly odd on her youthful face. So young. And yet, in only two years she would give birth to herself. If things played out the same as before. 

"You were shaking. Mumbling."

Mum wore her hair in the same way, three neat little buns perched like dumplings in a row. She was very thin, slender bones and long, wiry limbs clad in military grade tunic and leggings and a thick black cloak which matched _His_.

She was beautiful. Achingly beautiful. Imbued with fire. The Force danced behind her hazel eyes with the fierce clarity of the Light.

_This_ woman Sarela could believe battled and maimed Kylo Ren and took down three of the Supreme Leader's Praetorian Guards.

It seemed a silly notion that Sarela needed to save her. That it was within her power.

Her lips parted and shuttered, but words evaded articulation. It was with a vague recollection that she thought of the righteous determination which had fueled her. Where was that righteousness now? That rage seeped in darkness? She was numb.

San Tekka's amulet was a dull weight against her skin, the mysterious metal warm upon the roughened pad of her fingers having acclimated to her body temperature. The surface was coarse, as if crudely hewn by primitive means, and deeply notched in a circular pattern she traced with an absent finger.

It was an awkward position, weighted by the unnatural configuration of her cuffed wrists, so she left them fall to her lap, the odd relic slipping easily from her grasp.

Whatever purpose to the old man's gift, she would never know.

"Say the word and we leave."

The fierce whisper nearly shook Sarela from her numbness. She dragged her gaze back to her mother's, whose expression was at once determined and pleading.

"Go where?" Her voice was sluggish, a weak, reedy sound.

"Anywhere!" Rey's bright hazel eyes shone with the sincerity of her promise, but Sarela could not summon an answer.

She thought of Leia's gently lined face and cautious joy as she dressed her in new clothing. She thought of Han and her promises to change things. Of Chewie's teasing and _literally_ breathtaking hugs. Of the Resistance members, and their fierce pride. Of Poe, bruised but undaunted as he was led away in cuffs.

"Okay."

Although Rey's lips thinned at the tepid response, she did not venture any more overtures, gazing flitting back to the stormtroopers and _His_ forbidding posture.

There was a flicker of unease and bitterness projected through the Force as her mother's attention lingered on his back.

_You need a teacher._

The words were summoned from her memory most unwillingly. Did he teach mother to use the Force? He named her apprentice. And yet Sarela found herself doubting the existence of any such arrangement.

Sarela allowed herself to drift off as the silence continued, until the change in air pressure and deep rumble through the shuttle indicated the docking sequence had been engaged.

"Sarela."

This time her name came in a gentle murmur, familiar and tender. It stirred up a torment of molten pain and burned tears beneath her lashes.

_Please go along with it. To keep you safe._

She jumped up at the mental voice. Rey had drawn the hood of the cloak, shrouding her taut features, but her eyes were beseeching as she bid her stand.

_Mother?_

In the background, stormtroopers stood at the ready, accepting terse commands from His dreaded rasp.

And then they were moving, exiting the ship and passing through coldly gleaming corridors. Stormtroopers headed and trailed their group, while mother kept a firm grip on her arm, as much for appearances as to keep Sarela stable with arms pulled awkwardly by the cuffs.

Despite her previous time spent on the _Finalizer_ , Sarela was unable to make sense of the winding turns and shifts by turbolift. To locate Hux, Sarela had ripped the knowledge from petty officers' minds and slithered along the ventilation shaft in a feverish daze. Nonetheless, a lifetime spent on a former Imperial prison and scheduled visits to her mother's cell had taught Sarela what a detention block looked like. That was not where she was led.

It was a small, solitary quarter.

Rey affected an imperious look to the troopers. "Leave us."

Leaning until her back rested against the wall, Sarela waited in silence as Rey swept over the room, taking in the spare bed and attached 'fresher. It was so small, Rey knees were only a short distance from her own dusty legs. She studied her sturdy mud-brown boots. Sand already collected on the black flooring. Sarela imagined it collected elsewhere as well, inside her boots, within her matted curls and the pockets of her cloak. A twang of guilt pierced her to see the state of the lovely cloak. The fabric was fine, lined with velvety warm material, and paired with elegant detailing in silver thread along the inner pockets. It had belonged to Leia, gifted that first night she had huddled abroad the Falcon, unaccustomed to the cold of space.

_How many hours until dawn? Have my grandparents realized I am gone?_

"I can't stay long."

Rey eyes were fixated on the fold of fabric within her hands. With a flush, Sarela realized she was still stroking the cloak, and let it fall to the side.

"Okay."

"I don't know what to say to you."

"I know."

She made a hiccuping sound, like a laugh wanting to be a sob. " _Kriff_ , even your voice sounds like mine."

Sarela hesitated, nibbling her lower lip by habit. "I think it was somewhat deliberate. I wanted to be like you."

Mother closed her eyes, fisting the leggings in a painful grip. "Ben, your father, told me some of what happened, in the other timeline. I-I'm--" She swallowed heavily. "I'm sorry you went through all that. I would never want that for my child." _I didn't want to believe I failed as badly as my parents._

"Oh." A tremor ran through her legs and up her torso until she sank under the weight of it and settled on the floor. She hadn't told him the whole of it, had told no one really. She knew better than to share this. She couldn't _bear_ for mother to know it. "It's not your fault." She settled upon the whispered words at last.

But Rey made a brittle smile. "Parents are supposed to protect their children. Even if they don't."

"It didn't happen yet."

She reached a hand out, pulling Sarela to her feet with a firm grip. "It won't," she promised. Rey made a quick glance about the room again, then gestured to the bed. "Get some rest. I don't know what is going to happen, but you need your strength for whatever comes."

Just before the door, Rey paused. "Thank you for coming for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh....how obvious is it that I don't know how to write fighting?
> 
> So I must confess to a silly thing. I wrote this whole chapter calling Kylo, Ben. Then realized that I had Rey calling him Kylo in the previous chapter. I think both Rey and I are confused as to what his name should be 😅. I did end up leaving him as Ben in one or two places. Rey is only human after all.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Which is a weird thing to say considering how unhappy all our characters are. 😁


	11. Princess of Alderaan

Leia blinked into darkness.

A smokey haze clung to the opaqueness, and she floundered forth as if mired in a drug-induced daze. Instinctively, Leia stretched a hand in search of purchase, but met nothing tangible.

Despite the deprivation of sensory input, Leia felt remarkably calm--perhaps unnaturally so. But even as the thought entered her mind, it was forgotten in place of other concerns. Namely, a glimmer of definition, a spark, no _millions_ of them in the distance.

There were nebulas churning far, far away, gaseous bodies and the flickering of light and matter. Leia watched them from a remove.

It was beautiful. And treacherous.

Gradually, her near surroundings also gained clarity. There were craggy bodies tumbling in an unwieldy trajectory. Some drifting and others spiraling.

Before her eyes, an asteroid sped into what appeared as empty space when it was suddenly repelled. The apparent collision shattered pieces along indelible fault lines, the small portions pulverized and the remaining sent on new trajectories.

_This is Alderaan_. The thought alone brought a searing pain, along fault lines of her own. To give voice to it would undo her, crack them open anew.

"Why bring me here?"

The vacuum of space had no air to transmit sound, and yet her voice rang hollowly to her own ears.

As if in cryptic answer, a voice summoned from memory whispered to her.

_Leia, do you remember your mother? Your real mother?_

A bit hesitant, but softly, her own reply came, _Just a little bit. She died when I was very young._

_What do you remember?_

_Just images, really. Feelings._

"It's hard to believe we were ever that young."

Awake, _for this must be a dream_ , no doubt indignation and grief would boil to the surface for the lost years, for her lost son, but in this ether world, it was with love and delight that she cried out, "Luke!"

Leia brought a trembling palm over her twin's aged face, noting the silver stubble and lines creasing his eyes and brow, as much weathered by sorrow as laughter. "Are you really here?"

The sorrow became more pronounced with his smile. "Does it really matter?"

_Of course it does!_ she would have cried. _When I need you now, more than ever!_ Instead she shrugged. "I guess not. I wanted to see you and the Force obliged. _Of course_ this is some Force mumbo jumbo. Or perhaps I've had a stroke and these are the nonsensical conjurings of my deteriorating consciousness."

At that, her twin chuckled, in that moment more akin to the young Jedi Master who whispered about mothers and believed so earnestly in the good of others. "I've missed you."

"And I."

Perhaps it didn't matter if Luke was real, Leia reflected, an odd peace settling in her mind. She had dreamed up Padme as a girl, long before her tragic history, let alone name, had ever entered her knowledge. If the Force or her own stubborn mind wanted her to know something, there was no time like the present.

"Alright not-Luke," she said dryly. "Lay your wisdom on me."

There was a bark of surprised laughter, and then Not-Luke regarded her with an amused, assessing once over. "Straight to the point it is.

"You are pitting yourself, your wits, your determination into fighting the First Order, to protect the Galaxy. But you are doing it blind, with only half your potential." Luke searched her gaze. "It's time you start embracing that part of you. That you've always been frightened of."

"Not frightened," she retorted immediately.

Luke smiled, cupping her cheek tenderly. "You always were fearless. But the Force was something else. It couldn't be argued with or persuaded, shaped with your own hands. All that power. And the pull of the Dark."

"They took my boy." It was a pained whisper. "The Dark. Snoke. I couldn't stop them."

"And he needs you now."

"I need _you_ , Luke," she pleaded.

But Luke shook his head. "Oh Leia, I've been gone for so long. Do you really think I would have stayed away if it wasn't for something that will devastate you?"

It was easier to shut her eyes than hide from the truth of those words. "I know. I think I've always known."

The vision that took her brother's form was silent for a moment. "It's Ben and Sarela and Rey who need you now."

"Right, because the one thing they need is an untrained, elderly Force user." Although unintended bitterness bled through, Leia rallied slightly with her restored humor.

Luke folded his arms and grinned through his graying beard. "Even in a wheelchair, I'd bet on you. Small but scrappy."

"I'm only a bit shorter than you," she grumbled back. In normal circumstances, Leia would push back on such an unhelpful suggestion, but instead she fell into a contemplative silence, choosing to focus on the pirouetting asteroids.

At her "side," in this strange dreamscape, her not quite brother mimicked her pose, watching the Graveyard with solemnity.

"Why Alderaan?"

Not-Luke gave her a knowing look, to which Leia pursed her lips. "You don't need me to tell you that." Even her conjuring managed to be a stubborn Jedi to the last.

"It's the place I lost everything. My fault line. My first failure."

"You cannot take on that burden, Leia."

She cocked a head to the side. "I cannot? Who else is there to do it?"

His brow furrowed. "The Empire. Tarkin." There was a hard, pained edge to Luke's blue eyes. "Our Father."

Leia smiled sadly. "I know that. But I was there, at the end. All those lives, of my people, like scars on my soul. I shall carry Alderaan until I am no more."

o-o-o-o-o-o

Slowly her surroundings came into focus.

The comfortable, if standard, base quarters afforded high command, containing a large desk stacked with datapads and reports, and at her side, the familiar form of her husband breathing. Han, who had scoffed at the offered private quarters befitting a former Rebellion General, claiming his Captain quarters on the Falcon were good enough, had spent the past few nights in her bed. Leia noted, with fondness, the wheeze that had developed in more recent years.

But the unease, the _sorrow_ , of her dream had not dissipated.

The chrono on her nightstand indicated only two hours had passed since she slipped, ablutions complete, hair tumbling out of pins and dead on her feet, into Han's sturdy embrace. High command had spent hours locked in strategy sessions, pouring over intel on the First Order.

A reconnaissance mission had been sent to the Unknown Regions to obtain scan data of Starkiller Base. The technical knowledge provided the needed infrastructure to construct their strategy for taking down the planet, but it had been initially demoralizing for most of her comrades to have those specifications in excruciating detail, for the young and veterans of the Galactic War alike. Even Leia, armed with the knowledge that the weapon would be, _could be_ , destroyed, felt a cold dread in her bones at the devastation it threatened.

For once, it was Han who rallied them, quipping with dry irreverence, "Okay, how do we blow it up?"

Leia didn't know whether to kiss him or strangle him.

But it broke everyone from their paralysis, and Leia's heart beat once more.

Fight today, live another day.

These reflections did much to calm Leia. Taking a few deep breaths, she wracked her senses for some clue as to the source of this forbidding disquiet.

When Luke had first revealed their connection, and shared affinity for the Force, Leia had not experienced any dramatic awakening to her abilities. The Force had always been there, like a warm blanket protecting her from the elements, an instinct explained away as mere intuition.

As much as she demurred the perceived destiny of following in her Jedi twin's path or resented the tainted lineage of Vader which ran through her veins, Leia had at desperate moments tapped into the Force. But they were few and far between. Most of her usage was limited to communicating mentally with Luke. And even that had fallen away with Luke's disappearance.

There was no real struggle to slip into that thrumming current, to search out the source of discontent. The Force flowed into her rapidly, as if eager to share its knowledge.

Leia's mind spread outward, encompassing the warm, beating hearts of soldiers and pilots in slumber, the restless stirring of Admiral Akbar, Chewie awake and tinkering on the Falcon, and the guards at their posts alert to any danger. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would cause this lingering uneasiness. No disturbance on the base. No ill-timed celebration or covert infiltration by First Order operatives.

Dumbfounded, groggy, and about to drift back into a no doubt restless sleep, Leia retraced her thoughts, considered her friends and comrades.

At last the daunting realization came to her.

Not what, but _who_.

Fear charging through her body like Force lightning, Leia shook Han in a sharp hold. "Han. Han! Wake up!"

A low groan issued from her side, but he came to wakefulness with a keen alertness. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Sarela is gone."

o-o-o-o-o-o

"Whaddaya mean she's gone?"

"Oh goodness me! Mistress Sarela is missing? And in the middle of the night!"

"Maybe she couldn't sleep and went on a walk or tried to go outside."

"That would be a most unadvisable, Sir. D'Qar is home to 1.2 million insect species, in which approximately 10% percent of them are classified dangerous to lethal, and to 36 plants classified as poisonous according to the Resistance's databank."

"How could she have left the base without clearance?"

"That would be _quite_ impossible, Sir."

"'wasn't asking you, Goldenrod."

A tension headache was piercing through Leia's skull with the dull intensity of a hangover after imbibing questionable spirits in an Outer Rim cantina, as the voices washed over her. Across the conference room, the site of their impromptu, clandestine meeting, Han was scowling at the continued gyrations of the neurotic protocol droid. In truth, Leia was beginning to regret involving C3PO, but her sleep deprived state and uncertainty as to the wiseness of involving Resistance resources had made her alert Threepio first.

"The Force didn't give me a full rundown of how she left," she interrupted before the two could dissolve into full-on bickering. "But she's not on D'Qar."

Chewie let out a mournful roar with a great shake of his furry head, and Han slumped into a seat, brow furrowed in bewildered irritation as he considered the Force.

"If I may, Prin- General." 

It was a sign of her desperation, Leia mused with dry amusement, that she turned urgently to hear C3PO's suggestion. "What is it, Threepio?"

Encouraged, the golden droid continued eagerly. "I can easily access the logs of all outgoing flights to check for any abnormalities. It would only be a moment."

"Please do so."

"Of course, General."

They watched in rapt silence as the protocol droid fell into a rare repose as he accessed the necessary information, head tilted and arms held stiffly. At last his eyes flashed with a return to awareness. "The logs indicated only one outgoing flight. However, information regarding the departure are classified. With your security code I could unlock the information."

Leia rubbed her eyes wearily. "That won't be necessary. I know who it was. Dameron left on his mission at 0200."

There was shuffling from across the room, and Leia glanced up to see Han and Chewie sharing significant glances.

Rolling her eyes, Leia snapped, "Just spit it out."

Grumbling under his breath, Han rubbed the back of his head. "Don't you think it's time to get your Resistance involved? If Sarela really did mange to get off planet, either she forced someone to help her or someone abducted her. Either way, this problem may require some fire power."

It wasn't that Leia _disagreed_ with Han's assessment, but she found herself hesitating nonetheless. Even after all these years, it was hard to forget the disillusionment and hurt following the backlash to the public revelation of her connection to Darth Vader. Nor to silence the sneaking suspicion that this untimely reveal contributed to her son's fall to the Dark side. Prudence dictated that Leia allow her comrades to believe her son died during the destruction of Luke's temple. To disclose Sarela's parentage, and her force sensitivity, carried inherent risk, both to her granddaughter's safety, and to the stability of the Resistance.

As if Han read her mind, and thirty years of marriage near enough bequeathed that ability, he added with a grumble, "Keeping secrets didn't work well last time."

Feeling defeated, Leia sighed. "I know. Force knows that girl gets into enough trouble to give Ben a run for his money."

_The pup snuck aboard the Falcon_ Chewie added with an amused growl. _Maybe someone has a surprise passenger._

"Except Poe is the only one gone. Hard to sneak abroad an X-wing," Leia commented a touch absently, mind already whirling with how to present the problem to high command, and what resources could be utilized to discover Sarela's whereabouts. Then her mind pulled up short. _It couldn't be..._ "Wait. Threepio. Can you tell what ship is missing from the hangar?"

"Certainly, your Highness." After a brief pause, Threepio continued. "Oh how peculiar. The logs indicate a BTL-S3 Y-wing is missing, but no previous flight plans were logged."

"A BTL-S3 Y-wing? The Resistance is still using those old birds?" 

After quipping back, "You're one to talk," to her husband, Leia demanded, "And Poe's T-70 X-wing?"

"Still in the hangar, General."

" _Kriff_ ," Leia cursed under her breath, then rose to her feet. Meeting Han's eyes grimly, she added, "We gravely underestimated that girl. And her wish to protect Rey. We are little better than strangers to her. It was foolish to think she would be content to bide her time here. Not when her mother is out there somewhere."

"Hey, Sarela has been through a lot," Han soothed, in his awkward way. "It takes a lot to learn to trust, but she does care a great deal about you, Chewie and me."

Leia closed her eyes briefly, then tried for a watery smile. "You're right."

"Do you have any way to contact Dameron?"

After a moment, she replied reluctantly, "Unfortunately no. Given the sensitivity of his mission, Poe is not equipped with any device that could be hacked to uncover the base location. He possesses a one-way communicator to request extrication in the case of extreme duress. In any case," Leia straightened her shoulders as she instinctively hardened her own heart to sentiment, "we must assume that Sarela has coerced Poe into letting her come along. While I do not believe she would hurt him or actively interfere with his mission, her safety and the success of the mission may be compromised. There is too much at stake to let that happen."

Han was on his feet with hands resting on his hips. "Tell me where you need me, Leia."

Lips twisting a half smile, she acknowledged, "Han, Chewie, you are the only two I can trust to handle this."

Chewie gave an emphatic roar of assent, wrapping Leia in his furry embrace, nearly lifting her off her feet. After receiving a few affectionate pats from her old friend, Leia stepped back.

Flashing her that irrepressible, roguish smirk, Han promised, "We'll get our girl back. Even if I need to tie her to the Falcon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi ya'll. Short chapter this time, but I really wanted to get this posted before RoS. It's almost Dec 20!! Yayyyy!
> 
> Real questions my little sister asked me this week: "Is there a new one?" "Which one was empire strikes back?"  
> We agree on most topics, but when it comes to Star Wars apparently we live in different wavelengths.
> 
> I realized when writing this chapter that I forgot about C3PO. Oops. Thus his magical appearance.
> 
> Leading up to the release date, I am feeling both excited and really anxious. From what I've seen of other commenters, the feeling is a common one.
> 
> I'm staying off youtube and other social media for any star wars content to avoid getting spoiled. I'll never forget being spoiled as an innocent high school grad in the comments of a youtube video on every death in Deathly Hallows because some shop owners released the novel early.
> 
> See you on the other side :)


	12. The Apprentice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! It's been over a month since I updated this, plus TROS being released, so I broke my strict no-posting-until-the-next-chapter-is-completed rule to get this up. For the record, this was written before I watched TROS, and let's just say I and the creators had a different vision for these characters. Anyway, more notes at the end.
> 
> On to the chapter:

The satisfying crunch of plastiglass cracking beneath his bare fist brought Kylo hurtling into his own body.

Blood dripped from the torn skin of his knuckles. Large clumsy hands, good for nothing but killing. Thick fingers, callused and damaged from wielding a saber and unleashing Dark-fueled rage. Unbidden, an image of these same fingers gently gripping a calligraphy brush came to mind, but Kylo pushed that thought away.

...He was fraying.

The many mistakes from the last few hours relentlessly taunted him. San Tekka extinguished beneath his blade, Rey's icy disappointment and Sarela's furious pain, the impulsive decision to claim Rey as an apprentice before Phasma, the blasted map to Skywalker, just out of reach.

Skywalker.

Only with his death could there be any peace.

There was a numb comfort to that thought. _Peace is a lie._

At any moment Kylo expected the walls would close in. The knife-thin edge he had been traversing since Sarela unexpectedly tumbled into his life was crumbling beneath his feet.

"Sir?"

The engine was empty and the acrid stench of fumes choked him. Rage and pain and the lightening speed of the Dark flooding his body drove him forward.

_You can't stop moving. You can't think of Rey. Think of her and you'll shut down. Just get through this._

Mousey haired but somewhat competent Lieutenant Mitaka was regarding him with the frightened air of prey in sight of its natural predator, gaze flickering from Kylo to his outstretched, bare fists. Growing impatient as Mitaka continued to tremble through some thought process, Kylo demanded, "Yes?"

Mitaka jumped upwards at the command, before stammering, "They are ready for you, Sir." Again, the lieutenant's gaze settled upon Kylo's fists, and with irritation, Kylo drew them back while clenching his knuckles. Pain assailed him from the ruined knuckles, but Kylo ignored it.

"Is there something else, Lieutenant?"

There was a definite waver to Mitaka's reply, although to his credit he charged forward through his fear. "I wondered if you would consider first stopping by the medbay, Sir."

"That won't be necessary." Kylo grabbed his discarded gloves, pulling them over fists gingerly, then swept from the room, Mitaka mumbling protests and apologies in his wake.

"...have someone fix the viewport straightaway..."

The journey from his private quarters to the detention block of the _Finalizer_ was a well-trod one from his years acting as Snoke's Enforcer. Although Hux had been fond of performing his brand of... _unsavory_ physical persuasion, Kylo had honed efficient, and _ruthless_ applications of the Force upon the enemies of the First Order. Much of it from being on the receiving end of such tactics.

With Hux's untimely but welcomed death, the Resistance pilot was in the capable if impersonal hands of Captain Phasma. If lacking in Hux's distasteful pleasure in violent delights, no doubt Phasma's techniques would be no less gentle.

At the detention block, Phasma was there to greet him, a terse shake conveying that conventional means were not successful.

His dislike of Hux aside, they had often worked in tandem to extract information from recalcitrant prisoners--those agents who received training in withstanding torture. It was known that General Organa trained resistance operatives to withstand both physical and telepathic torture, but even the most hardened agents would offer a reduced resistance to a mind probe after Hux's tender care.

The cold, implacable Enforcer, Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren-- _that_ man would stride into the cell and turn the pilot's mind inside out--take what he needed and be done with it.

And yet, it was not that man who entered the dank cell.

"You're Ben Solo."

"Oh _kriff_."

o-o-o-o-o-o

Panic tore through him with the virulence of an ocean wave, flooding his nostrils and filling his lungs. Kylo Ren would have channeled those fears into the Dark, choked the life of the impudent pilot so no further indiscretions could pass his lips. However, nothing would draw more suspicion than killing the man now, no map recovered, and his secrets with him.

He thought, wildly, of Phasma outside the cell, the surveillance monitors listening in to the chamber.

_That_ would have to be first.

A loud burst on the right signaled the destruction of the surveillance. Any footage taken thus far, Kylo would have to dispose of afterward.

Throughout this display of the Force, the pilot watched him in wary silence, despite being the first to speak those damning words. Bruises shadowed his eye, a split lip and gash through his brow were visible in the dim lighting.

For his part, Kylo hardly knew what to say.

The pilot overcame his reticence sooner. "So it's true."

"Shut up." Huh, easier than he thought.

"You _are_ Ben Solo."

Kylo gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. The ruined fist seared in excruciating reminder of his earlier fury. "What. Do. You. Want."

The pilot raised a taunting eyebrow. "Is this a negotiation?"

"I should have just killed you," Kylo mumbled, resisting the urge to rub his forehead, which would undoubtably look foolish over the helmet.

"--if it _is_ a negotiation, to be let go with my life and body parts intact would be nice."

"How do you know the girl."

"What girl--" and then the man cut himself off, eyes flickering toward the ruined monitors. For a moment the affected levity dropped away, a canny look taking over his narrowed eyes. "Is it safe?" _For her._

The unspoken words were quite clear to Kylo. Was it safe? The truth was, probably not, but Kylo could not delve into that thought without an unreasoning panic bubbling to the surface once more. Clamping down on his fear, Kylo grunted, "Yes. For now."

The resistance pilot seemed rightly skeptical of this promise, but eventually shrugged. "I've had a lot of time to think." There was a deliberate pause, then the pilot drawled, "You know, between the torture."

"You want me to apologize?" The sarcastic words slipped out before he could stop himself. The Resistance clearly did their recruiting among the insane, but that was hardly surprising given his trade and the bleakness of their cause.

"That would be nice, but it's a lower priority at this point. Anyway, Sarela said you are her father. Complete nonsense I assumed. There are rumors obviously. You probably don't remember our last meeting."

Kylo froze.

_Poe Dameron  
Resistance Captain  
Black Squadron Leader_

The words off a datapad had not penetrated the protective layer of thoughts permissible in his current life, not those memories from the time before he discarded Ben Solo.

_A boy, older, with brown curls and red, swollen eyes, bows, inelegantly, at the prompting of an older man._

_"Your Highness, it was good of you to come."_

_"Kes, none of that. Of course we came. Please accept our dearest condolences..."_

_The boy doesn't bother to glance his way, staring away from their parents to the grassy landing pad where he knew the Millennium Falcon was._

_"Ben?"_

_His mother is glancing down at him, hair braided into elegant twists in the pattern for mourning, in the Alderaanian tradition. "Why don't you keep Poe company?"_

"I-I remember." He surprised himself by answering, although haltingly.

Dameron settled back in the interrogation chair, eyes shuttered and looking into the past. "You were just a little brat then, but we were friends after a fashion. Friends for that day." His eyes opened and bore down on him with a hard glint. "I heard they sent you to the Jedi Academy, and then I heard that you died." The accusation was unmistakeable.

Kylo shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. This _encounter_ was progressing so absurdly beyond his original expectations--the very fact that his own physical discomfort should occur to him as opposed to that of the man before him had an unhinged chuckle threatening to burst past his lips. "Neither are wrong. The boy you knew is dead."

The pilot rolled his eyes. "Next you're going to say, 'from a certain point of view.' Any other bullshit to share?"

" _Really_ reconsidering your murder."

"Forgot to mention, and my apologies in advance, I may be less careful about sharing your secrets with Chrome bot next time. Lovely...I want to say...woman?"

Now a smirk was pulling the side of his mouth before he could brutally shut it down. "Woman is correct. You would be wrong, however, to assume my former name is much of a threat. I assure you maintaining a secrecy regarding my identity has long been to General Organa's benefit more than my own."

Dameron raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "The remains of the surveillance would beg to differ."

Kylo cocked his head to the side, as the pilot stewed in suspicion or calculation. At last he seemed to come to a conclusion.

"This is about Sarela."

"Correct."

"You _care_ about her."

"Fabulous deduction."

"It's what I'm known for. More importantly, the First Order do not know of her existence, her connection to you."

It was with great reluctance that the answer passed his lips. "They do not. Do you agree to assist in the continuance of this ignorance?"

There was a hardness to Dameron's gaze, and Kylo was reminded, for all the Resistance's claims to lofty ideals, they were a paramilitary organization making calls in the name of expediency, like any other. Kylo's belief that Dameron would agree was founded solely in his mother and the principles she held, and _she_ was a woman who sent her child away when she couldn't handle him any longer. Had she cared for the wayward girl, or was Sarela merely a tool to dispose of the son gone astray?

"In exchange for what exactly? To be let free, no questions asked?"

"You begged me to let her go," Kylo pointed out, struggling to keep his voice even. Had he misread the pilot so badly? "She's an innocent girl."

"That was before I knew she mattered to you. And _innocent_ is debatable." The last was muttered in a baleful aside.

Panic was rising again, temporarily lulled by the verbal volleying, at the pilot's implicit threat. "There is nothing to stop me from killing you the moment I've ripped the map from your mind," he snarled, bringing one hand forward to abruptly lift the interrogation chair off the ground in a demonstration of his power, then drop just as quickly back to the ground.

Dameron grunted as the chair roughly impacted the ground, but his voice was even. "You could. But you won't. Because you know she won't forgive you."

Normally, Kylo's instincts would have him harness the Force in some way, such as a Force choke or perhaps taking his blade to a comm system. But the dull thud as his fist impacted the smug pilot's jaw was just as satisfying as it was non-productive. At least until pain nearly paralyzed him from the damaged knuckles. _Right, that._

Blood dribbled from Dameron's lip, but he still faced him defiantly. "How many Bucketheads witnessed her stunt with the lightsaber? They may have poor aim, but some of those troopers are going to put two and two together. You're on borrowed time, Ren. In fact, you would be better off helping the both of us leave."

Kylo gave a laugh of disbelief. "You're insane, you know that? One minute you threaten my daughter and the next you tell me to let you leave with her."

A strange expression crossed the pilot's features. "You really do love her, don't you?"

There was a surge of feeling through his body like a live current, trembling through his fists with the intense desire to pummel Dameron's face again, and a fierce tenderness that clenched his heart with a sweet agony. The intensity was so strong, Kylo inadvertently loosened his shields, and he could feel an answering stirring of confusion and concern from Rey. Shutting down his shields and tempering his own emotional outburst was challenging, but Kylo managed to bring himself to some semblance of control. Whatever Dameron read from the steel lines of his shoulders or his shaking fists, the man could not quite mask the shiver of unease before returning to a put upon blankness. "I will give you an hour to reconsider your options, Dameron."

The pilot blinked, in astonishment or weariness or both, but Kylo was beyond caring.

"Oh, and Dameron? If you threaten my daughter again, I will destroy you. Keep that in mind."

o-o-o-o-o-o

Despite the potent mixture of fear and rage that fueled him earlier, Kylo was icy calm as he set forth from the interrogation chamber. Phasma had absented herself, but the stormtrooper guards accepted his pronouncements with barely concealed fear. It was almost easy, removing the security feed, wiping the memories of the officers and even calling maintenance on the broken monitors. _You will give me the map, Dameron_ , he thought with cold triumph. 

His next stop was, if possible, an even less pleasant duty, but Kylo soldiered on nonetheless.

Sarela prowled her cramped chambers like a caged beast, whatever catatonic state she had been after attacking him with his stolen blade was quite over. She pounced on him in a Dark rage, blue eyes flashing and fists clenched.

"What is happening? What are you going to do about Poe?"

There was no better way for the girl to rile his already fraying temper and sanity, but Kylo reminded himself that losing his head was the worst thing he could do. Already a large man, ensconced in the tiny room made Kylo feel lightheaded and the steady throbbing of his hand fractured his concentration. "It would be for the best if you forgot about that man."

"Forget about him?" Sarela scoffed incredulously. "He's my friend!"

Pulling the leather glove from his aching hand, Kylo slapped the leather against the uncomfortably close wall. " _That man_ is not your friend. He's just using you. That's what the Resistance does, finds poor orphans to shape into the perfect weapon for the cause."

"What-? That's ridiculous! Poe wouldn't--" Sarela sputtered, having worked herself into a righteous fury. "Grandmother would never!"

_Grandmother_.

"She would. She has." There was bitterness, to wounds buried deep and unhealed.

"No, I don't believe you." This time, Sarela's voice was softer, with bewilderment and hurt. It summoned his gaze upward, a tether born not of the Force but of that same, fierce protectiveness that drove his fist against Dameron's face not an hour before. Tears tracked their way down his daughter's cheeks, and guilt lanced through him. He was the cause of this anguish, but no words of his could ease this pain. She was a girl who had never known the safety of a loving home, yet yearned for the childhood and family denied her. A contradiction of innocence and brutal reality.

Up close, the girl at last fallen into some exhausted stillness, Kylo could see the deep shadows which clung to bloodshot eyes, and the shivers she could not control.

"Sarela?"

There was something wrong with his daughter. An oddness, _no_ a blankness to her. How Kylo had not seen it before now, escaped him. Before, her Force signature had danced against his senses, flighty and curious as a loth-cat, twin streams of Darkness and Light. Now there was nothing, as if her presence was muted, cloaked.

Distracted as he was by this strange discovery, Kylo belatedly realized Sarela was speaking in a mumble.

"..can't stop thinking. Can't sleep. All I see is his face. See him dying. But at my hand."

As the meaning of her mumbles dawned on him, pain and guilt washed over him anew. Was this being a father? Disappointing his child and bearing her agony as his own? 

At last, Sarela turned around, denying him anything more than the sight of her shoulders and messy buns. "I want to be alone."

It was to be expected. His right hand hovered forward, instinctively raised but in what exactly? An attempt to give comfort? To ease the pain and cruelty his daughter endured? It was foolish and unwelcome. Kylo let the hand fall, unnoticed, to his side. "As you wish."

A blessing or a curse, his mask muffled the regret of his true voice.

o-o-o-o-o-o

The _Finalizer_ was a sterile place, much as any other First Order ship or base. The walls seemed to swallow him up, dimly lit and endless halls melting into identical passageways.

Failure as a son, failure as a father--surely it was not unexpected?

Kylo felt her before he heard her.

A brilliant firebrand burning through his soul and down to his bones.

_Kylo_.

"What are you going to do about Sarela?"

Internally, he sighed at the fiery demand from another person who despised him. Even his own masochistic tendencies shuddered at the contemplation of another confrontation.

" _Rey--_ "

"I don't want to hear anymore kriffing excuses." Rey rounded on him, the hood of her cloak, the same dense black nearly identical to his own, fell to her shoulders as she invaded his space to snarl, "What power _do_ you have? _You_ brought us to this nest of vipers."

The accusation stung, adding what felt like the bitterness of truth to the existing well of weary self-loathing. Still, he squared his shoulders with a confidence he did not feel, grateful for the helmet's modulated neutrality. "You have to trust me."

But Rey shook her head. "You make it so hard."

"Rey..." As Kylo trailed off, grasping for words sufficient to vanquish the disappointment and frustration in her eyes, the loud beeping of a com interrupted his mental flailing. Although Rey's eyes fixated on his wrist, Kylo desperately pleaded, "Please give me a chance to prove myself. To you. And Sarela."

Biting her lip with apparent uncertainty, Rey murmured, "Ben--"

"Please." He reached his still ungloved hand forward, when the blasted com made another inopportune beep.

"Perhaps you should get that."

_Kriff that_ , was on the tip of his tongue, but with a deep exhale Kylo dragged his wrist within his eye sight.  
When the message became clear, however, dread replaced all other concerns.

Perhaps feeling a shadow of his fear, Rey prodded him anxiously. "What is it? What happened?"

"I am summoned by my Master."

o-o-o-o-o-o

Each time Kylo Ren stood before his Master, he was reminded of the Sith code, _Peace is a lie_.

Perhaps, because he had felt very little of it in his 29 years.

And yet longed for it with all his being.

His Master had promised acceptance in the Dark, but true Darkness had long proved elusive, caught between its promises of power and the calls from the Light. Fractured as he was, there was no easiness in his Master's company.

Any moment was a test of Kylo's resolve, of his devotion to Snoke, of his disavowal of his former self. His body twitched a ghostly echo of his Master's preferred training, felt the silver marks that scarred his body in physical manifestation of those on his soul.

The trepidation of those past encounters was nothing to the paralyzing fear that gripped him now.

"My Apprentice. I had expected to hear from you sooner." The fatherly croon from Snoke's ghostly, titanic holoprojection drifted menacingly to his bowed head.

"I have been focused on Skywalker. I come from interrogating the Resistance pilot, Master."

"Rise, my Apprentice."

At his Master's command, Kylo came to his full height carefully, subtly double checking the strength of his shields. Through the projection, on top of the unnatural size, Snoke's deformed flesh appeared a smokey grey as he loomed overhead.

"So Captain Phasma informs me. And yet investigation into Hux's murder remains unresolved."

Keeping an iron grip on his shoulders and his emotions alike, Kylo responded carefully, "I am kept abreast of all developments in the investigation. I judged the matter best kept in Phasma's capable hands in favor of focusing on the map to Skywalker."

For a moment, Snoke watched him with a mien of gracious condescension, but Kylo did not mistake his manner for true indolence. His Master wielded fatherly concern and corporeal and mental punishment with the invariance of a true inquisitor. Kylo knew his own efforts as an interrogator paled in comparison. "And how goes the interrogations?"

_Interrogations_. The meaning was not lost on Kylo. In truth, Kylo had no real hope of obfuscating Sarela's existence; he could only strive to control the dissemination of it. Blood pounded in his ears, for the life of his daughter, and likely Rey's, dangled precariously in his crude, bloodied hands. "Progressing. The pilot does not have the map. I will have its location promptly."

"Why the delay?"

The question was an obvious one. Here Kylo must tread very carefully. "Because of the other prisoner."

"Ah." Was it his imagination, or did his Master's sunken eyes fairly gleam with malevolent interest?

"She's a girl, little more than a child, but a Force sensitive. The Resistance does not recruit amongst children ordinarily. I wish to uncover Organa's plans for the girl." Kylo hesitated, then continued in a voice he hoped reflected mild interest and none of the barely restrained desperation that clawed within. "She is young, and malleable to our cause."

"You have compassion for her. For this younger replacement of yourself."

To Kylo's best knowledge, the _Supremacy_ was as yet located in the Unknown Regions, but to assume himself safe from mental invasion would be foolish. Distance had not stopped the Supreme Leader from invading his mind or performing punishment in the past. And his Master did not require the Force to provide mental anguish.

"She means nothing to me. I think only to remove a potential weapon out of Resistance hands."

"Perhaps." Snoke reclined on an unseen throne. "The Apprentice becomes a Master." There was no mistaking the menace beneath Snoke's low drawl. "A habit of yours these days, Apprentice?"

Kylo flinched beneath the mask, although it was only a matter of time before his Master chose to strike on the matter of Rey. In a low voice he entreated, "I apologize, Master. She is powerful, but untrained. I had planned to present her to you after dealing with Skywalker."

Snoke smiled a grotesque look of complacency, waving an indolent hand. "We are not the Jedi Order of old, Kylo Ren. Relieve the stirrings of the flesh, if you must."

Shock and fury erupted through him at the insinuation, nearly to the point of breaking through his carefully placed shields, although Kylo maintained them grimly. Kylo was not one to listen to the gossip of the cogs of the Order, but clearly some had come to conclusions regarding the nature of his relationship with Rey, if his Master could speak so dismissively. Fortunately, Snoke did not require a response, musing on other matters.

"There's been an awakening. Have you felt it?"

"Yes."

"The Sith of old mandated the Rule of Two to put an end to the inefficient squabbling amongst their order. I follow a different philosophy. The Rule of Two does not foster a sense of...loyalty between Master and Apprentice. The Jedi were a foolish order of weak fools, but they fostered loyalty amongst their warriors, with one notable exception."

Kylo listened in tense silence to his Master's oration. Personally given to a scholarly bent, the information was not new to him. However, Kylo doubted his Master simply wished to refresh his memory.

In an abrupt change of tone, the Supreme Leader commanded, "Get the map and put an end to Skywalker. Then bring your apprentice and the girl to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg this chapter is so long. Haha. I just had so much I wanted to fit in to Kylo's POV. So much so that a scene with Rey got cut and will be reworked to Rey's POV later on.
> 
> Since I wrote this pre TROS, I was envisioning a sort of darker, grimier Poe based on the tidbits by Oscar Isaac about having an interesting background during promotion, who would have no problem manipulating Kylo even if he had no actual intention of harming Sarela. In my mind, he has actual resentment and confusion over Leia's lies about Ben's death and identity as Kylo Ren, and uses those emotions to fuel his self-preservation while in FO hands.
> 
> (If you haven't watched TROS, this would be the place to stop reading. Thanks!)
> 
> And Snoke, what can I say about Snoke?
> 
> Because I had been waiting to get some clarity on the origins of Snoke, and his relationship to Palpatine in TROS, there are aspects of my outline that had included the _how_ but not the _who_. Now that I have seen TROS, I think its safe to say that I will not be following it to the T. There is definitely no Rey Palpatine here and obviously no Ben-death-yet-happy-Tatooine sunset, but I will be picking and choosing from TROS as it suits my plans.
> 
> At the very end of the chapter when Snoke begins monologuing on the Rule of Two--this mostly comes from the thought I had while writing that Kylo had likely intended to recruit Rey as his own apprentice and eventually overthrow Snoke, following the Rule of Two. I don't necessarily see him as a huge planner--murdering and overthrowing Snoke was clearly in protection of Rey, but neither do I see him as a mindless zealot of Snoke's. Killing Han, in my mind, was less because he was ordered to do so, than because he genuinely thought it would put in an end to his torment. Kylo was trapped in the First Order with Snoke because he thought he had no one else and no other options. He feels a connection to Rey, and offers to be her teacher, but it doesn't make much sense for an apprentice to take on an apprentice, unless we consider the Rule of Two scenario. Anyway, I had assumed some overarching plot for the ST, but TROS proved that they were pulling things out of their ass, so who knows.
> 
> Sorry for the long note. On the bright side of things, I am so ready to dive back into this fic. I actually did a lot writing of bits and pieces of future chapters since watching TROS, so I hope I can keep up a faster pace in getting this out. Thanks for reading 😊


	13. FN-2187

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Yes, tis I, yet again posting a month later.  
> Unfortunately, once a month updates is probably going to be the norm for the near future. Thank you everyone for your patience and following along.  
> More at the end...

She didn't dress the way he had imagined a paramour would dress.

Not that he had much idea what that would be. Silk, he had supposed. Red and black, the colors favored by Kylo Ren. Tight and skin revealing.

A flush was making its way beneath the confines of his black form fitting suit to heat his neck and face.

FN-2187 had never seen anyone naked before, apart from contraband holoporn shuffled around the FN corp and himself, naturally. Even among the rank and file stormtroopers, solitary sonic showers were the norm, to avoid anyone seeing another's face. The very notion of seeing a real person with actual skin revealed who was the lover of the most terrifying member of the First Order had him unaccountably anxious.

_Stupid_ , he told himself, as he made his way through the corridor. _She's not going to be naked_.

Rumors had run rampant among the Stormtroopers, spread by the select group who had accompanied Ren to the planet Jakku. A young, beautiful woman had been personally extradited by Snoke's Enforcer, one of no obvious importance. It was even said that Ren had removed his helmet before the girl, although the troopers in accompaniment did not see his face.

A man lived beneath that frightening specter.

Somehow, the notion terrified FN-2187 even more.

At 00100 hours, the man himself had swept into the training complex, casting an inscrutable gaze over identical white masks. Any other officer would no doubt have pulled up a datapad, seeing only in designations and evaluative reports. But Kylo Ren was not an officer nor any ordinary man. _He has the Force_.

"FN-2187."

Beneath his mask, FN-2187 felt the blood drain from his face. Stormtrooper training had instilled an absolute discipline in the presence of a superior officer, and yet he could feel the invisible gazes of his corp settling upon him as that dreadful, inhuman rasp uttered his designation.

"Captain Phasma has spoken highly of this corp," Ren continued, the vocoder unchanging in inflection despite speaking words of praise. As he spoke, the man approached him at an indolent pace, with the grace and silent menace of a feline, heavy cloak swaying with each step. "And especially of you, FN-2187."

"Sir." He licked his lips nervously, quite uncertain how to respond to the unexpected praise. If he closed his eyes, _especially as he lay awake at night in his bunk_ , the sounds of terrified screams and blaster fire, the horrifying stench of burnt flesh and blood haunted him, more than Phasma's cold dressing down or even ominous warnings of reconditioning could. _Could this be a test? Why would Phasma praise me? And to Kylo Ren of all people?_

But test or not, Ren did not seem to await further commentary. The man had continued speaking, naming two others, FN-2000 and FN-2003, who straightened their shoulders to be thus singled out. "You have been reassigned. Walk with me."

And with that abrupt command, Ren turned from the division. Zeroes and Slip were quicker on the uptake, marching after Ren with alacrity, and FN-2187 was left hurrying to follow.

Aware of the irony of lagging behind Slip, who perpetually fell behind in simulations and required his intervention, FN-2187 jogged until he came abreast with Ren's long strides and his fellow troopers. The Enforcer began speaking in a flat tone as if no interruption had occurred. "You have been reassigned to protection detail. This assignment is indefinite and on a need-know basis. You will report to me and none other."

"Yes, sir." Behind him, Slip and Zeroes echoed the affirmation.

There were no eyes or distinct human features to focus rage or emotion of any kind, but the black and chrome mask left little doubt of the man’s silent menace.

A trickle of cold dread shuddered down his spine. Were the rumors true after all? Were they in fact being assigned to protect the Enforcer's paramour? Was he even now reading their minds to ensure compliance with his indiscretions? Some ( _most_ ) amongst the First Order would relish an opportunity to gain influence with those in power, even that of one as volatile as Kylo Ren--perhaps FN-2187 _should_ gain Ren's favor, seize this chance to avoid reconditioning or even avoid standing before civilians with a rain of blaster fire.

“I understand, Sir.” The confirmation was redundant in light of his previous reply, doing little to assist in his anxiety spiral. And yet the black mask merely nodded a dismissal.

For all his fears, the first day and a half of duty, FN-2187 saw neither hide nor hair of the mysterious girl. It was dull work standing at duty for hours on end broken only by Slip's occasional chatter, but preferable to the sanitation duty on Starkiller base to which he had been demoted ever since refusing to fire on the miners in Pressy's Tumble.

They held post two at a time, with the third on relief in rotation. While Slip was fond of cracking jokes and speculating on their boss’s _endurance_ , Zeroes, fortunately, preferred to let a companionable silence stretch, much less likely to end up on the wrong end of a lightsaber.

A service droid came at appropriate intervals laden with meals, and once, with the valet droid responsible for outfitting the higher ranking officers in tow. And at the very end of the first day, he struggled not to quake at the heavy tread signaling Kylo Ren's approach. The man himself, however, paid them no mind before slipping inside the chamber. _Of course_ , he berated himself with belated realization, a flush heating his neck, and infinitely grateful for the enforced durasteel of First Order construction that muffled sounds within.

It was the afternoon of the second day, shortly after the service droid came with what FN-2187 presumed was a midday meal, that he saw her.

A young woman frogmarched to the entrance brandishing a staff of dull metal to growl, "Tell him I don't need it."

FN-2187 took in a slight form of sand colored rags, a tanned upturned nose with sharp, brilliant eyes. Although her steely gaze was focused on the service droid, beeping a distressed binary trill of disapproval, it soon swept over him and Zeroes, no doubt seeing only anonymous white armor.

This _was Ren's mistress?_

She was beautiful, undoubtably, with delicate, symmetrical features sprinkled with charming freckles and a slim, athletic build that nonetheless managed to be delicately curved. Even the crisp, core accent was unexpected from one apparently originating from Jakku. But everything else...? FN-2187 hardly knew what to think.

Caught in his thoughts, he missed the young woman's next words, only apparent after she stared at him with obvious expectation.

Licking his lips, FN-2187 said tentatively, "Ma'am, I must ask you to return inside."

There was a displeased twitch to her lips, but she retreated through the threshold with the staff still held her her assured grip. "Fine. But please make sure the food isn't wasted."

She was worried about food? FN-2187 glanced at Zeroes, who merely shrugged, and at the service droid, twittering its high pitched irritation, then back at the girl while considering his response. There were few tasks more undesirable than the prospect of conveying such a request to Kylo Ren's attention, at the behest of his lover or not. Finally he settled on a wary, "I'll pass on your message."

After narrowing her eyes with apparent skepticism, the girl nodded tersely and allowed the door to be closed.

o-o-o-o-o-o

" _Assemble_."

FN-2187 eyes flew open as the dim lighting beyond his bunk flickered into a full glare, to the unmistakable, icy menace of Captain Phasma summoning his corp into formation. The chronometer on his wrist indicated three hours had passed since Slip relieved him and he laid down for a light slumber. Fumbling into full wakefulness and hearing the shuffling of bodies and squeak of plastoid gradually diminish, FN-2187 slammed his helmet into place and scrambled from his bunk to Nines's side.

Phasma inspected their arrayed formation in silence, and turned to watch his late arrival with particularly poignant disdain in the stiff hold of her chrome helmet. Although inwardly he squirmed beneath her gaze, eventually she moved on in favor of addressing them imperiously. "We leave in five minutes from starboard hangar. Be ready."

The room echoed with affirmations, and Phasma nodded a brisk acknowledgement.

As his corp rapidly marched into orderly preparations, FN-2187 licked his lips nervously, forcing his body to move toward the Captain. The very action drew her hawk-eyed attention, the forbidding lines of her towering, chrome frame instilling no encouragement.

“FN-2187. Why are you idle.”

“Captain, I have been assigned indefinitely by Kylo Ren." It was not stated quite as a question, yet the uncertainty drew his voice to a trailing end.

Phasma straightened subtly at the Enforcer’s name. “The Supreme Leader wishes the FN corp to participate in this mission. You have your orders.”

_The Supreme Leader Snoke?_ Incredible though it seemed for the Supreme Leader to take an interest in the doings of a lowly stormtrooper, FN-2187 knew better than to question it. “Yes, Captain.”

“If that is all. A delay will not be tolerated.”

With a dutiful salute, FN-2187 hurried away from further scrutiny, to prepare along with his corp for their first, real mission.

Unexpectedness aside, there was an air of nervous excitement from his fellow troopers as they marched through the _Finalizer’s_ twilight corridors, the heft of blasters in hand that had never seen true combat. When Phasma had the FN corp join the _Finalizer_ two weeks earlier, it was widely believed they would be graduating from basic training, and would embark on their first melee. FN-2187 pushed aside the memory of terrified screams, sweaty hands beneath the black compression suit, muscles seized by paralysis. _You don’t know that you’ll need to use it_ , he reassured himself, although not quite believing it.

As the starboard hangar came into view, a destination FN-2187 had no reason to frequent since arriving on the _Finalizer_ a fortnight ago, instinct had a vague dread settling in his gut.

The feeling seemed merited when a familiar, hooded giant accompanied by a smaller figure cloaked in black came into sight before what he presumed was Kylo Ren's infamous TIE silencer.

"Sir."

With all appearances of cool confidence, Captain Phasma called after the irascible Knight of Ren.

The man himself whipped around at the address, every inch of his towering frame expressing unpleasant surprise. Then, coldly, he bit out: "I do not require an escort, Captain."

Phasma seemed unmoved by the rebuff, offering a composed reply, but FN-2187 found his attention diverted. Among identical suited bodies, two surprising designations registered on his ID reader, standard in the helmets of all stormtroopers.

At his jerky nod, Zeroes gave a perfunctory acknowledgement, and Slip mumbled, "Eight-Seven."

Pitching his voice to a discreet volume, he hissed, "What are you two doing here?"

"Dunno know what's going on, but we were all called in. Captain's orders."

"If you two are here, what about the objective?"

But Slip shook his head in a warning. The dueling pair had come a disgruntled conclusion, with what appeared to be their Captain's victory. Inertia, and protocol, had the corp marching forward up the ramp of an Upsilon-class command shuttle.

The command shuttle belonging to Kylo Ren was the same as any other Upislon-class shuttle utilized by senior officers, equipped with cabins for up to five crew members and an internal compartment capable of holding ten passengers. Filled with the FN corp, blasters and the nervous anticipation of the unblooded, it was a cramped, potent mix of dry brush before firesticks. 

There was little light but for nauseating red flashes at steady intervals, drenching the white masks in crimson.

"Nervous?" The whisper was from Slip, standing at his right with a blaster gripped in a vice hold, his voice just audible over the thunder of the engines and shift of pressure as they breeched atmosphere. "Don't be. You're the best of us. Even Ren said so."

FN-2187 smiled tightly beneath the helmet. He thought of Phasma's brusque order, the blaster held in limp hands, the miner's defiance melting into terror as Slip finished what he could not. "Not the best." _Not at this. Maybe not ever_.

With his unburdened hand, Slip pounded his shoulder. Seeming to wise on to FN-2187's own thoughts, he blurted out a touch awkwardly, "You froze up. Don't let it get to you."

Despite the reassurance, FN-2187 felt a stone settle in his stomach, only adding to the steadily rising unease. "Right."

There were noises up ahead, low voices and stamping feet, Phasma's modulated voice raised in command. Slip gave him one last, gruff pat, and they were marching through the shuttle, once again orderly lines of disciplined cohort, armed and ready to fulfill the destiny to which they had been shaped--the very might of the First Order.

And within their midst, Kylo Ren flowed through them like a dreaded, eldritch creature, black mask gleaming beneath a deep hood with barely tamed rage.

"Follow my lead."

With that soft, menacing growl, they charged.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Smoke and blasterfire.

Slip torn down by enemy fire, hand raised in silent entreaty as he encountered a yet greater unknown.

A supernatural hold that immobilized his limbs and nearly stoppered the racketing clamor of his heart.

Kylo Ren and his dark lover wielding the Force like titans.

The Resistance pilot with a bruised lip and roguish smirk.

A girl with twilight eyes whose scream echoed in his mind. 

A bloody handprint marking his helmet, that burned down to his skin and bones and perhaps his very soul.

Alone, shrouded in darkness, FN-2187 wrenched off the helmet to take deep, gasping breaths. It helped, somewhat, ingesting unfiltered oxygen. It was harder to stop the flood of images, of Slip's bloody hand, of his body falling lifeless against the sandy ground. His own, useless self, huddling at his side. The sick relief that flooded him, and worse, the remorseless sting of guilt, when a senior trooper ordered him to stay by his friend’s body.

Yet the brief respite was not to last. The heavy tread of boots behind him had tension shooting up his spine. Even before she spoke, instinct warned of the approach of his Captain.

"FN-2187. Submit your blaster for inspection."

It was too late to hide, or dispose of the damning evidence his blaster would no doubt reveal. Slip was not here to draw away Phasma's critical gaze, or to complete his mission for him. He was left behind, glassy eyed upon the sands of some nowhere planet. Dispassionately, he wondered whether the villagers would choose to burn the dead of their attackers along with their own? What dismal end would befall his friend's body?

With grim resignation, FN-2187 straightened his shoulders and faced the punishment that awaited him. "Yes, Captain."

Through the modulation, her voice was biting. "And who gave you permission to remove that helmet?"

_Oh_. Horror flooded through him, as he belatedly remembered his bare face, in clear violation of stormtrooper protocol. "I'm sorry, Captain."

Towering over him in scintillating silver that spoke only of cold condemnation, her words were weighted with finality. "Report to my division at once."

Phasma was long gone before he realized the wet drip upon his cheeks were tears.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Surprisingly, the decision was a simple one.

There was no tortured breakthrough, no balancing of risk versus morality.

The paralysis that made him unable to fire upon a disgruntled miner or even armed villagers in his own defense were guided by some instinctive repulsion, but FN-2187 could not quite label those as decisions. In the heat of the moment, fear pounding his rib cage, FN-2187 had less chosen to do nothing than simply failed to act.

Now he would _act_.

It was exhilarating, and terrifying in equal measure.

The inherent difficulties in executing his "plan" were numerous, but chief among them his lack of clearance for entering the high security detention block. During his brief tenure serving under Kylo Ren's whims, FN-2187 had his clearance raised to be allowed access to the block dedicated to senior officer's quarters. With Phasma's order upon the shuttle that he be sent to reconditioning, he had little doubt that clearance was removed.

But given the insanity he planned to carry out, bluffing his way to gain access was his best shot.

Beneath the helmet, his breath came sharp and anxious to his own ears, nearly drowning out the stamp of his boots and thrum of the ventilators. It was well into the ship's artificial night cycle, with a large percentage of the _Finalizer's_ non-essential crew allotted to rest, and yet he spooked at every shadow and maintenance droid scurrying through dim corridors.

As he approached an intersecting passageway, the tell-tale tread of rapid steps of human origin had him struggling to remain nonreactive so as not to draw unwanted scrutiny.  
But when he saw _who_ exactly shared the ghostly corridors, it proved a near impossible task.

Cloaked in black and form-fitting uniform of ribbed grey fabric, there was little of the scrap of desert girl who sent back her meal two days previously, striding forward with a darting gaze and lips pulled into a tight line. He shuddered in memory, of a flash of gold, slim arms outstretched and an array of pulsing blaster bolts and bodies frozen at her command. She dressed like _Him_ , and yet she belonged among the First Order as much as a rathtar would the _Finalizer's_ sterile halls.

Heart hammering in his own chest, FN-2187 strove to keep his pace even, but registered the exact moment she seemed to take notice of his presence.

She reared back sharply, features pulling into impossibly quick sea changes of emotions he could not read that at last settled upon a warily blank expression as her stride became more leisurely.

Swallowing shallowly, FN-2187 replicated the jerky nod he would afford a senior officer, and hoped it would past muster.

They had nearly crossed paths, however, when her voice rang out.

“Wait!”

_Kriff. Kriff. Kriff._

Instinct froze his march and discipline had his body moving through the motions of a perfunctory salute. He could barely stand to face her directly, letting his gaze settle wildly on the pleated sleeves of her tunic rather than an inch of tanned cheekbones. “Yes, ma’am.”

The heat of her scrutiny seemed to penetrate the white plastoid mask, saw the hollowed cheeks and haunted eyes, perhaps even the turmoil wrenching his soul. Who was this woman who bewitched the dreaded Kylo Ren, fallen under his protection and yet seemingly wielded the same occult powers that made him a terrifying force within the First Order? Would she pluck out his weakness, report him to Kylo Ren or to Phasma? No true anguish twisted him so much as cold resignation. There was no escape.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. At the unexpected apology, FN-2187 jerked up in surprise. Up close, the woman was rather flushed, little hairs escaping their buns and brushing her face. Eyes of brilliant green flecked with golden ran over him with a strange urgency. “Do I know you?”

_She remembered him?_ It was an odd notion, not quite flattering but an emotion that was not despair tentatively chased away his tension. “I was assigned to your protection. We spoke two days ago.” He hesitated, wary of further exposure, but found himself unable to resist the demands of protocol. “I am FN-2187.”

Comprehension dawned on her immediately, but she gave a few rapid nods, as if she had expected the answer. “Ah, yes, of course.” Seemingly stumped, she fell into an awkward silence while biting her lip.

For his part, FN-2187 was keen to be off, anxiety beginning to racket again, as the purpose of the strange woman’s interruption failed to become clear. An irrepressible impatience had him speak rashly. “Will that be all, ma’am?” It was a risky move, any officer would reprimand him with icy condescension or worse. Kylo Ren would no doubt jeopardize his body's continued attachment with living. That wild part of him, which simply could not stand the status quo any longer, had bled through its bit of madness.

But she did neither of those things.

With an audible exhale, the slight woman pulled back, features settling into a sort of strained neutrality. “Very well then. I will not keep you.”

_Was it possible? Was he free?_

Hardly daring to breathe, FN-2187 nodded jerkily, and forced himself not to break into a run as he headed on his way.

The weight of her gaze was palpable until he disappeared around the corner, and held him in its ominous hold long afterward.

There were two troopers nominally on duty, but FN-2187 knew there were many more eyes through the monitors. Starkiller base, where FN-2187 imagined they were headed, boasted a more impressive high security detention sector for housing such a resistance operative, and the _Finalizer’s_ detention block, by contrast, was of modest construct, relying more heavily on technology than manpower. These senior troopers were slouched in apparent boredom during the night cycle, no doubt counting the hours until their shifts ended. As FN-2187 breached their periphery, however, their relaxed stance morphed into wary attention.

Taking his cue, FN-2187 affected a crisp salute, and stated confidently, “I have orders to bring the Resistance pilot.”

The trooper on the left shifted forward, tension radiating from the hand gripping his blaster. “We were given no notice.”

The denial was expected, but FN-2187 made himself relax slightly, giving an exaggerated shrug. “Ren gave the order. You think he gives a fuck about protocol?”

The senior troopers visibly flinched as the name rolled off his tongue, much as he had hoped. Pressing his luck, FN-2187 added, “You want to be the one to explain why there’s a delay?”

“ _Kriff_. Fine. Go.” The second trooper waved him onward, shuddering in obvious horror at the mental image.

Incredulous that he managed to pull it off and hope, foolish and intemperate, rising within, FN-2187 made his way into the cell.

A man, dark haired and worse for wear after he little doubted mental and physical assault, was slouched in a state of semi-consciousness. On the planet, FN-2187 had caught only a glimpse of the Resistance pilot and his impressive defiance before Ren. The battered man before him held little of that roguish confidence now.

What could he possibly say to this man? To convince him an enemy soldier was worthy of trust? FN-2187 had hardly considered a speech while marching through with his half-baked plan, but in the brisk walk from the detention block, half supporting the semi-lucid man, his thoughts ran frantically for words to move him.

An alcove ahead, which would provide a brief measure of privacy, made the decision for him. Beelining for the opening, FN-2187 grunted as he dragged the man, not entirely gently, out of sight.

Crouching upon the ground, he found himself getting to the point immediately. ”Listen carefully. You do exactly as I say, I can get you out of here.”

“If -- what--?” The man, understandably, seemed more than a little dazed, a bruise darkening the skin of his eye and weakened from whatever precise torture Phasma bestowed upon him. FN-2187 should be patient, _he was sympathetic_ , but panic was taking control of the gear, internally screaming to get moving and as far away as possible.

Inspiration, and instinct, had him pull off the restricting helmet. “This is a rescue, I'm helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE fighter?” It was too much at once, not at all the eloquent explanation he would wish to give, but hope seemed to clear much of the fog from the pilot’s eyes. Which were brown. A really pretty brown.

“You with the Resistance--?!”

The question drew a surprised denial, and broke him from his distracted thoughts. “What? No no no! I'm breaking you out. Can you fly a TIE fighter?”

"I can fly anything." Something about the matter-of-fact, brash confidence of that statement filled with him with a ridiculous urge to grin, although he suppressed it. "Why, why are you helping me?"

He thought of the miner on Pressy's Tumble and Slip falling lifeless in his arms, of the sick anguish that roiled in his gut and the clamor of unease only silenced when he determined onto this path. "Because it's the right thing to do."

The man's gaze was intense, but some flicker of understanding seemed to pass through him. "You need a pilot."

"I need a pilot."

At his agreement, a sudden, dazzling smile pulled the man's broken lips and crinkled those warm, amber eyes. FN-2187 was utterly transfixed.

"We're gonna do this. It's just, we need to make one more stop first."

"Right. Okay. _What?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time Finn-POV! I promise I'm not going to be introducing any more POVs from this point on (i think? 😅)
> 
> Also, how much is too much in terms of how many times I could suggest that Finn thinks Rey and Kylo are getting it on? 😁
> 
> While writing this I was dying to have Poe get his namin' on, and I never managed to fit that in. It gets really tiresome to keep writing FN-2187. But the good news is I finally remember the designation.
> 
> I have never read any of the ancillary materials, so the raw basis of FN-2187 and FN corp background comes from Wookiepedia. For reference, [Slip](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/FN-2003)[Pressy's Tumble](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Pressy%27s_Tumble)
> 
> I know I am always making excuses for my lateness, but RL has been pretty awful since the start of the year, so my writing has been slower recently. There was illness (both baby's and mine 😅), a demoralizing incident in which my icloud deleted this fic (I did recover it, fortunately), and the general insanity that has been my worklife. I'm going to keep on keeping at it, but ***insert writing is hard gif***
> 
> Anyway your comments and encouragement are what keep me going, so thank you as always!! 🥰
> 
> I forgot to mention it last chapter, but if anyone wants to come say hi or bug me about updates, I revitalized my [tumblr](https://darthrena.tumblr.com/) after TROS. 😊


	14. Don’t need to say Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been a long time unfortunately, but I am desperately happy to finally post this 😅  
> Last note before I shut up until the end, this chapter is a split POV, which will become obvious as you read.
> 
> Enjoy!

_We don't need to say goodbye._

_We don't need to fight and cry_  
"So Sorry" by Feist

" _Kriffing hell_."

The sharp sting radiating from her abused lip and the metallic tang of blood coating her tongue was a rude reminder she had taken the anxiety-driven habit too far.

With one last glare at the offending door Ben had disappeared behind, Rey turned resolutely on her heel to face the corridor. It was long and sterile and dimly lit and nearly indistinguishable from all the others, but years spent crawling through the guts of desiccated _Imperial_ -class Star Destroyers lent a familiarity to the _Finalizer_.

There was a comfort in that. A surety to guide her feet and convince straight backed officers and white-armored, disciplined troopers that she was an authority to be reckoned with.

A shiver ran down her spine. Space was _cold_. Even in her layers of borrowed finery--thick thermal leggings, inner tunic, ribbed overtunic, and the large black cloak (frankly, Rey had never worn so much clothes in her life)--it was impossible to feel truly warm.

She ran a tongue over her bitten lip, feeling the dry ridges and shallow wound. Despite wincing at the tender flesh and fresh taste of blood, she was satisfied it was of little consequence.

In the enforced solitude, Rey attempted to take stock of her circumstances, took in the familiar heft of her staff, the less comfortable one of the blaster Ben gave her, tallied the number of hangers to which her new clearance gave access, the distance to Sarela’s enforced confinement, the minutes that passed since Ben left her.

It was fine. She was fine.

Rey was a survivor. She would protect Sarela. And maybe even Ben too. By the skin of her teeth and the same rabid determination with which she did everything else.

A ship, supplies, rations, credits. Scrounging for necessities and slapping together an exit strategy. Mad, perhaps. Reckless, certainly. But Rey knew when to read the wind, and to know when she had out stayed her welcome.

_Ri’a’s tits_ she hated waiting.

The Force _itched_ , sending whispers of awareness against her skin, feelings and currents in metaphysical pathways illuminated only to her. Oftentimes these senses merely skittered, with echoes of crew members’ thoughts or gentle nudges she had once considered to be instinct, but occasionally there were sharp spikes of emotion that sent her into a confused tailspin, such as with the trooper from her protection detail. FN-2187.

And then there was Ben. A live wire of barely tamed emotions strung to her by a golden tether. She felt him always, a heady presence that ebbed and waned with the force of his volatile emotions.

_You have to trust me. Please give me a chance to prove myself._

Kylo's words echoed in her mind with their wretched earnestness, burrowing beneath defenses and softening her fury. Putting one's hopes in another was inviting betrayal into one's bed. It was a bitter lesson she learned years ago, in sweat and blood, in suffocating rage that blotted out the sun, in loneliness and despair so acute that she swore never to endure the like again.

_How_ could she trust him? With the blood on his hands? With his dubious loyalties to a tyrannical order and even less clear ambitions?

And yet she _wanted_ to. Throw caution to the wind and her hard earned pragmatism and simply _yield_ to this fantastic connection between them. Accept the odd belonging that their mismatched family seemed to promise, and _kriff_ all else. It would be easier, she told herself firmly, but when was the easier path ever right?

It was harder to ignore the voice that suggested, perhaps she already did.

From behind came the sound of a door slamming open, and Rey whirled around to see Ben striding through it. With the mask in place it was impossible to tell how the summons went. Tentative feelers with her newly discovered senses reached an impenetrable wall. Pulling back, Rey studied the equally impenetrable mask before announcing, “We need to talk.”

" _Not_ here."

Although a scowl pulled her face at the curt reply, opting for discretion, Rey merely nodded her acceptance. Thinking to expedite their conversation, Rey charged ahead of Ben in the direction of the training rooms he brought her a day cycle ago.

With the rapid pace she kept--a half mad desire to check he followed satisfied only by the heavy stamp of his boots providing evidence of his obedience--Rey determined once and for all to get answers to the roiling frustration within.

After sweeping inside the training room, Rey passed a cursory glance over the generous stock of practice sabers and staffs and state of the art training droids. Only the best for the First Order's Enforcer.

Ben was stepping in behind her. A hissing release accompanied his enormous hands removing the awful mask, the movement unhurried and weary.

_Yes, why rush?_ She groused inwardly, indignation and fury mounting at this merest of provocations. Mouth set in a thin line, Rey prepared to unleash it.

But her thoughts were strangled the moment she took in Ben’s bare face. Rey drank him in hungrily, running over the angular planes of his sensitive face, the drawn skin dotted with beauty marks, the ragged line of his mouth like a crimson wound, and dark lashes crashing beneath bruised eyes incapable of veiling their misery. The exhaustion and heart-weariness on his face was a cold douse on her anger—clearly the last daycycle’s events had taken their emotional and physical toll on him as well. Granted such brief glimpses, Rey found herself starved of the beauty and humanity of his true face, that twisted her insides in anguish and longing.

"You look like banthashit."

As much as she _wanted_ to remain stern or least firm in her determination for answers, her resolve wavered in the face of such obvious pain. Rey bit into her lip (carefully skirting the wound), wrestling with the foolish impulse before capitulating to her desire to place a hand against his cheek. "Are you okay?"

Ben was warm and smooth beneath her touch. He seemed to tremble, as if the breath stuttered inside him, then melted against her hand, eyes shuttering closed and breathing deeply. When they opened, Rey was suddenly reminded of the closeness of their bodies and the precise, molten texture of their depths flickering from her eyes to lips when he breathed, “Not really, no.”

In need of some steadying distance, Rey gestured to the practice mats around them, before seating herself. "Sit with me." She assumed a meditative pose, the same of which he taught her only a couple days earlier, and waited until Ben followed suit.

"I thought you hated meditating," uncooperative as always, the insufferable man deadpanned.

Keeping her own eyes firmly shut, Rey scolded, "Shush. We are being quiet with our eyes closed."

In Tuanul, Ben had projected thoughts, memories and feelings, as if the barrier between their minds was wide open, and it was likely her own had been equally evident. Now, however, he seemed in control of any mental output, but not rigidly so. Rey prodded the golden tether with a flickering touch, and found an answering presence, like a mental hand hold. From Ben she felt his exhaustion and unease, but those emotions seemed to abate ever so slightly into tranquility and pleasure at their entwined force signatures, and calm awareness of the conflicting jumble of her own emotions.

Thus reminded, Rey was compelled to point out, “I'm still angry with you."

"I know."

Rey rolled her eyes at his matter-of-fact reply. "How perceptive of you."

Across the mat, his large body folded into a disciplined form, Ben’s eyes fluttered open, wariness overcoming his features, although he said nothing.

"Do you have any idea how much my life has changed since you stepped into it?" The question tumbled forth unrehearsed, not at all how she had planned the interrogation to go. Tears prickled her eyes as the onslaught continued. "I was doing _just fine_ on Jakku. Unkar Plutt may be a cheating bully, but I knew my place, I knew how to survive."

Not unexpectedly, Ben's brows furrowed in apparent bewilderment at the turn in conversation. "I'm sorry?"

"Shut up."

Ben, for once, did not snap a quick retort.

After a taking a breath, Rey attempted to rethread her thoughts into coherence. "None of this," and she made a sweeping motion, "has anything to do with me. I'm just a nobody from nowhere."

"You're not a nobody," He interrupted firmly, seemingly unable to help himself. This time, however, Rey felt a confusing flood of affection at his certainty.

"You are the only one who believes that." When Ben seemed poised to argue further, Rey placed a hand over his knee. He calmed immediately beneath her touch. "Just let me finish.

"I've always known the Galaxy is a flaming ball of shite. I'm not stupid, I just wanted to hope that other parts of it were a little better maybe, like in the stories." She hesitated, knowing her next words would anger him. "Stories of the Rebellion, and Luke Skywalker and the smuggler Han Solo." As suspected, Kylo's eyes darkened in reminder, but he remained silent so she continued. "I didn't believe they were real, not really. Those stories—the battles they fought, the people they saved—that’s not Jakku, that’s not me.

"But for the first time in my life, the decisions I make may have some affect on this world.” Throat tightening, Rey straightened her shoulders to lay the weight of her entreaty on him. "Killing and fighting for what's yours are not new to me. I had to _survive_ on Jakku, and I did what I needed to. But what happened in Tuanul. That Captain—she would have had all the villagers killed. _That’s_ how the First Order operates,” Rey finished bitterly.

“But they _weren’t_.” There was a wealth of emotion battling for release beneath that restrained retort.

Rey swiped at furious tears. “Because _I_ stopped her. What would you have done if I hadn’t spoken?”

Kylo’s throat bobbed as his jaw worked in furious silence. At last, he conceded haltingly, “I don’t know.”

Disappointment plummeted like a stone in her gut. Rey fell back on her heels, a weariness overtaking her. “Why do you stay with the First Order?”

She braced herself to hear more of the scathing propaganda Kylo spewed on the shuttle before descending on Tuanul, but instead he seemed to shrink into himself. “I had nowhere else to go.” Ben’s voice was pained. _They abandoned me first._ Phantom words, from memory or projected from Ben, Rey could not be sure.

“Your family,” she whispered.

His fist was outstretched in a contorted grip. Blinking in surprised realization, Rey blurted, “You’re hurt.” Reaching forward with little thought, Rey cupped his hand, studying the lacerated knuckles of dried blood and bruising skin, feeling the calloused ridges of his thick fingers. The fingers slowly began to shift, a gentle caress of blunt pads against her own. Mesmerized by their unexpected tenderness, Rey shot up at her name falling from his lips.

“Rey.” It was a bruised and gentle sound. “Ask me why.”

“Why what?”

The ghost of movement curving Kylo’s lips was entirely too sad to be a smile. “Why did I listen to you. To spare the villagers. To publicly defy Phasma. To risk everything I have built here.”

It felt like a trick question, equipped with a preloaded answer to be filled in with words like destiny and power and lust. Kylo had always seemed so sure, guided by some Dark vision or Sarela’s knowledge about their future together. It was overwhelming to a scavenger nobody from Jakku to be on the receiving end of such frank regard. And now, with this strange connection between them, Rey could little deny the unstoppable pull she felt for him.

“You’re changing me too, Rey.” His rich timber cracked as he repeated her name. “Don’t you get it? I belong to you now.”

Rey was impulsive.

Although strategy and planning had their place—to ensure she survived a sandstorm with enough food or water to last several daycycles, or to evade trouble with other scavengers intent upon stealing her horde—Rey had a habit of relying on instinct. 

Contemplation was a luxury. Fear and despair, longing and loneliness—those could be tucked away, under wraps, beneath walls, somewhere she could not feel them in the light of day. It kept her focused, it kept her sane.

But since awakening from that dream the morning Kylo Ren first plucked her from Jakku, those careful walls had been shaken by images and feelings from another life, by this man and his infuriating ability to make her want _more_.

And Ben tore them down.

It made her lurch forward to kiss Ben. It was, undeniably, a clumsy one, skidding the landing to end up only half on his lips. Flushing at Ben’s undoubted horror at her poor performance, Rey pulled back sharply.

Ben seemed frozen, arrested in an intensely forbidding stare at odds with the soft gape of his mouth.

Wishing the mousy officer would interrupt again and save her from further mortification, Rey made herself speak. "You asked me to trust you, Ben. So I need you to do the same. Trust me with whatever it is you are doing."

“Why’d you do that?”

At the blunt question, unequivocally refusing to overlook the awkward kiss, Rey could do little more than splutter. “What?”

The enormous man began to tremble, perhaps in exhaustion or the exertion of enduring his wound, but he edged closer. It dawned only gradually, as his knees bumped her own and uninjured hand cupped her cheek, that perhaps he wasn’t horrified at all.

“Why’d I kiss you?” Her whisper drowned in the thunderous pounding of her heart.

Ben gazed down at her, so close his breath warmed her skin. “I trust you Rey.” Again, in that gentle voice that made her ache. “And I will show you what you wish to know. I will come to you. Tonight.”

It was the offer of trust she had desired, and yet the promise of tonight made her shiver with other longings.

And she was tired of waiting.

The second kiss was much more pleasant. In the first, brief attempt, Rey had taken in little more than the softness of Ben’s lips, but now she lingered, breathed in his uneven exhales, felt the full plushness of his lower lip. It was more than pleasant, she decided, letting her fingers trail against the black cowl draping his neck to slip into surprisingly silken curls. Ben made a low sound as her fingers traced his scalp, lips parting beneath hers. Rey let instinct guide her, catching his lower lip between her teeth, and grazing his tongue with hers.

So much of Ben was rough, from his temper to his hardened body, that she liked the unexpected softness, the tentative movements as he kissed her back sweetly, at odds with their first encounter.

On the shuttle, Kylo had been pursuer, attacking her mouth with the same vociferous energy Rey imagined he fought his enemies. She had been caught in the tide of their shared lust, before fear and fury overcame desire and she pushed him away.

Perhaps Ben was reading her thoughts or perhaps she read his, but Ben broke away to murmur against her cheek. “That day—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

But Rey chased him back, swallowing his words with her mouth slanting over his. “I know.”

There was little talking after that, only heat.

At least until the comms.

o-o-o-o-o-o

It was embarrassing to admit, but Sarela was bored.

Those first hours of confinement, which passed between her mother's departure and _His_ abrupt appearance, she could not manage to sleep, her mind flashing over San Tekka's lifeless body, the crude, unbalanced grip of the cross guard blade, and memories of a darker ilk.

Eventually though, even those demons paled before more mundane concerns.

Like the aching rumble of her stomach. And the dreadful monotony of the room.

When a black and chrome service droid trundled to the door to deposit a meal of veg-meat rations, Sarela fairly pounced on the package, seeming to startle the droid, beeping a low-pitched irritation. As she teared gracelessly into the vege-meat, dry and mostly tasteless, Sarela briefly toyed with the idea of escaping with the droid's assistance, before discarding it immediately. Droids were hardly susceptible to mind-influence, and that route had not gone so successfully of late.

And, perhaps, there was a part of her that wanted see what Rey would do.

But the wait, for _anything_ at all to happen, was maddening.

Yet when anything _did_ happen, it was nothing like she could have expected.

There were muffled noises from beyond the door, voices muttering in urgent whispers, a sharp blast that carried through the durasteel doorframe, and then, very clearly, a hissed "Are you trying to get us killed?" Sarela hardly had time to do more than jump to her feet in wary anticipation before the door was pushed forcefully open.

Poe strode inside, at once bruised and cocksure. It was a bizarre sight, with Poe holding cuffed wrists forward. Perhaps the pilot got a high off of danger, but the wink he threw her way was positively manic. Nonetheless, relief flooded through her to see him more or less in one piece. "Poe, what are you doing here? How did you get out?"

"We're getting out of here. Let's go!" Gripping her shoulders with one hand, Poe glanced over her quarters as if ready to whisk her away without her input necessary.

Sarela shrugged off the grip and instead tugged his arm insistently. "Wait! Poe!" Up close, the dark bruises and deep weariness beneath the manic energy was evident. "It's never going to work," she pleaded. "He'll stop you."

Unfazed, Poe shrugged impatiently. "Can't you order the troopers to go away or something?"

"I don't know, Poe!" she cried, her voice squeaking an octave higher. Distress rising like a tide, Sarela dove into the Force, not entirely sure what she sought but craving assurance. The turbulent waters contained few answers, running over her skin and whispering unintelligible warnings. Letting loose a noise half sigh and half shudder, Sarela shrugged on Leia's opulent cloak from off the bed, careful to let the hood shroud her features. "Oh kriff, I'm coming with you. My Dad may actually kill you."

Poe grimaced at her words, but seemed relieved to have secured her cooperation. "He's already threatened to."

" _Dad?_ "

"What did you do?"

At the unfamiliar, modulated voice overlapping her own, Sarela snapped towards the open door. The sight was not a reassurance. A stormtrooper stood just outside the obviously blasted door as if standing watch, but he seemed to be watching their exchange avidly. Unsettling as an unknown trooper’s presence was, Sarela sensed no hostility through the Force, and therefore opted for a hissed, “Who’s this?” rather than violence.

Poe turned with an inappropriately chipper smile to the trooper, slapping one of his cuffed hands on the white plastoid shoulder. “ _This_ is...”

At Poe’s obvious ignorance, the man himself supplied, “FN-2187.”

“A friend.”

Sarela glanced between them with a raised brow. “A friend," she repeated in a deadpan.

Her skepticism seemed to roll over Poe, who explained cheerfully, "He's coming with us."

“ _And as a friend_ , I would advise that we get the hell out of here.”

Smirking involuntarily at the trooper's exasperation, Sarela pushed passed Poe who had his cuffed wrists outstretched in a display of exaggerated gallantry. "Agreed."

As they stepped from the chamber into a dimly lit corridor, Sarela glanced curiously over the trooper, who seemed remarkably tense while muttering, "Okay stay calm. If only we had another pair of cuffs...it's unbelievable as it is for only one trooper to accompany two prisoners."

Poe turned a questioning look on her. "Can you do what you did before?"

Sarela let out a sigh. “Yes. I’ll discourage attention. I’ve never used it on more than myself, so be convincing.”

“Discourage attention? What does that mean?”

The trooper, FN-2187, linked arms with Poe in what Sarela supposed was a guard’s hold but made her feel like an odd third wheel. Squashing the absurd thought, she replied, “I can make anyone overlook me or wish to avoid me.”

Feet scurrying through the passageways, Sarela spared only a quick glance at the trooper, but she felt his confusion.

Poe, fortunately, chose to cut in. “Gotta name?”

“FN-2187,” he repeated, obviously not a chatterbox.

Curious, and a dawning horror sickening her gut, Sarela asked, “Just that? No personal name?”

“No. It's the only name they ever gave me.”

Sarela floundered on a response to the trooper's matter-of-fact tone, creaking her neck to catch Poe's eye. By contrast, Poe had a hard look and his mouth thinned in indignation. "Well I ain't using it! FN, huh? Finn. I'm gonna call you Finn! That all right?"

Although she found herself unsure whether to grin or roll her eyes at Poe's brash presumption, the recipient seemed momentarily stunned before eking out a delighted, "'Finn.' Yeah, 'Finn', I like that!"

The moment of levity was broken at the stamp of booted feet approaching, and after a quick exchange of nods, Sarela fell behind Poe and the trooper, or rather Finn she supposed. Drawing a cloak of dark energy around her, Sarela watched as three suited officers with crisp uniforms and severe hairstyles passed on their left, gazes flickering briefly across the two men, and sliding sightlessly over herself.

“Incredible. They didn’t seem to notice us at all,” Finn marveled in a hushed tone.

“Let’s hope it lasts,” Sarela mumbled back. “So, what’s the brilliant escape plan?”

“Steal a TIE, get the hell out of here.”

At the matter-of-fact reply, Sarela twitched a smirk. She didn’t exactly have a head for strategy herself. “Alright.” But a thought pulled her up short. “Wait, last time I checked, TIE fighters don’t carry three people."

Poe glanced over his shoulder, flashing an audacious wink. "You're skinny, you can squish."

Despite herself, Sarela flushed slightly at the mental image of being in such close quarters with the pilot. "Right."

Up ahead the wide expanse of a hangar brought their furtive conversation to a close. Although until now they had been lucky enough to avoid much company, the hanger teemed with First Order personnel—officers and technical staff and a cohort of troopers making rounds. It was now or never.

“Okay, stay calm, stay calm,” ahead, Finn mumbled, hardly managing the feat himself.

“I _am_ calm,” Poe shot back.

“I was talking to myself.”

“Hush you two.”

As before, Finn and Poe took the lead, passing by officers absorbed with data pads and troopers in formation. The blood pounded in Sarela’s ears as she dogged their feet, gaze darting left and right at the formidable array of First Order ships. Finn was leading them with apparent confidence toward a vast wall of TIE fighters. Sarela was less familiar with First Order fighters than those of the Resistance, but she had seen enough history holos of the war to recognize the two-seater, special forces TIE fighter. Ahead of her, Poe was quickly catching up Finn’s rapid ascent of the narrow stairs, but Sarela found her steps flattering at the bottom.

Any minute someone could notice her, no someone _would_ notice her, yet her legs refused to move.

“Wait, Poe. This doesn’t feel right.”

“Sarela, now is not the time to complain about our ride out. Get your ass up here.” Despite the joking words, Poe’s voice was strained.

Recalling Poe’s earlier bullishness and the sharp disapproving line currently furrowing his brow as he charged down the stairs, Sarela imagined she was about to be bodily hauled inside the TIE. Knowing her time was short, Sarela spoke quickly, “I’m sorry Poe, but I can’t leave with you.”

Catching both her elbows in a firm grasp, Poe turned a searching gaze upon her. “Do you understand what you are saying? You aren’t safe here, Sarela.” He shook his head grimly. “Whoever your father once was, whatever family he came from, he’s not a good man. I can’t in good conscience leave you.”

_He’s not a good man_. There was a burning feeling in her chest, despite her fury, despite her hurt—why did it sear her heart so badly to hear those words? Whatever the molten turmoil meant regarding her father, Sarela was not up to putting words to it. “My mum,” she choked out. “She’s here.”

“Your mom—”

“I don’t want to interrupt,” Finn’s very brusque voice cutting through theirs, understandably, implied quite the opposite. “But we have a very narrow window to get out of here.”

Sarela wrenched her arms away, shooting Poe a final entreaty. “Just go, Poe. _Please_.”

“No kriffing way—”

“You there! State your authorization!”

Blood rushed southward and her brain whited out in horror as Sarela forced herself not to act rashly, even as her instincts screamed to do _something_. Meeting Poe’s grim nod, they moved slowly in tandem to face the speaker. A slight officer in uniform with blonde hair pulled into an austere bun regarded them with stern suspicion and a raised blaster.

At their continued silence, she barked, “Identification. _Now_.”

“FN-2187.” There was a scrape of the metal grating as Finn descended the stairs, his voice remarkably steady. Sarela had nearly forgotten the trooper’s proximity, but was grateful for his calmness now. “I am under orders to escort the prisoner.”

Sweat beaded down her spine at the obvious ridiculousness of the lie given their current location. The hysterical desire to giggle nearly bubbled up as the logistics of the lie occurred to her, imagining a prisoner transport in a TIE fighter meant for two.

In seconds that passed with agonizing slowness, the officer’s gaze flickered from Sarela and Poe to behind them. At last she spoke, but it was not to them. “I’ve found the prisoner. Back up-”

A scream died in her throat as the officer crumpled to the ground with the sharp release of a blast bolt. Whipping about revealed Finn standing with the blaster still raised, although his arms trembled slightly. “Is she dead?”

Poe gripped his arm in a bracing reassurance or a show of gratitude. “There’s no time for that, Finn,” he told him, although not ungently. “We’ve got company incoming.”

There were marching boots in the distance, alerted by the blaster or summoned by the comm—either way they were in trouble.

“I’ll head them off. But you two need to leave now.”

“Like kriff you will—”

Neither of them heard the silent approach until a very calm, low voice spoke.

“Step away from my daughter. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t hate me, but this is going to be a part I of TBD #of parts. I was feeling very reluctant to end it here, but it’s just not going to be possible to finish this arc satisfactorily in one chapter. In fact, I made a big narrative change just before posting this chapter that I felt would better serve the characters, which determined where I ended things here. Anyway, hopefully you'll find it satisfying eventually.
> 
> On to the elephant in the room.
> 
> Obviously this is nearly the longest I have gone between posting. There are two big factors  
> 1) I have mentioned this to some in the comments, but my work/homelife balance is pretty challenging right now in that it is non-existent due to the corona outbreak. Although I have been on WFH for the last eight weeks, my daughter's daycare was closed more recently so I'm two weeks away from a mental breakdown 😂😭 
> 
> 2) I am struggling a bit with my self-imposed format of a single POV per chapter, so in the interest of freeing the narrative structure, I am considering to make two POVs per chapter going forward, or multi POV's for particular multi-chapter arcs. I'm still thinking about it. Also, for this chapter in particular, I struggled a lot with figuring out Rey's voice. By contrast, I find Ben to be a much easier POV to write (I probably banged out chapter 12 in about two weeks)
> 
> All this to say, I have no idea how soon I can complete the next chapter, but I'll do my best, 😅 and thank you so much for all your kind comments and putting up with my excruciating pace.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the needlessly long note. Being in isolation with my husband and baby girl is probably making me crazy.


	15. So Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears. The world is a crazy place right now, but I hope everyone is doing well. I'm glad to finally get this chapter posted.

As Rey hurtled through the _Finalizer’s_ twilight corridors, she thought about the promises that bound her.

For years she had waited for her parents, had believed, at times desperately, perhaps foolishly, in that tender promise, “I'll come back sweetheart." It was the sabacc card foundation upon which she had forged herself.

The stoppered storm that was Ben had swept through her life much the same, drawing her into his orbit with a peculiar magnetism born of the Force and his own very human attraction. Equally helpless to their connection, Ben had offered her power, partnership and trust in turn. The sweet surrender newly found in his embrace was a promise of that to come.

But Rey had made a promise too, one risen from her bones with a painful certainty she shied from examining. She would protect Sarela, from a bleak future and a callous world, whether it be from evil in the guise of man or the mysterious demons that haunted her, laid unspoken in her eyes.

Rey had little notion how to be a mother, but she’d be damned if she didn’t keep her promise.

When the comms interrupted the heady fog of lust with as much efficacy as buzzing gnats, they paid it little mind. Ben had torn away only to growl against the hollow of her throat, “Someone better of fucking died,” but as the message became clear his cold fury shuddered through them both, entangled physically and mentally as they were.

“What is it? What happened?” 

Instead of answering in words, Ben pushed images into her mind—the Resistance pilot, bruised and shadowed in a cell, escaped, Sarela, grief stricken and impassioned, _He’s my friend!_ A barrage of information spun dizzyingly of his fraught conversation with the pilot, Poe Dameron, Ben supplied, the bald declaration, _You’re Ben Solo_ , his veiled threat to Sarela. Ben’s rage built with a terrifying spiral of Darkness, and Rey found herself pulled downward into that midnight expanse.

But through the miasma, Rey had felt it—a paralyzing terror. “I know he will take her. Dameron will tell himself it’s to save her, but we both know that’s a lie.” It took a few seconds for Rey recognize the hoarse whisper as spoken words, drowning in Ben’s molten irises and emotions alike.

“I will find Sarela.” Yet another promise slipped her lips like a caress. She punctuated it with a kiss that Ben returned with fire.

It helped, somewhat, to soothe those dark currents, although Rey still groped through the Force with her instincts and wits alone. After breaking apart, Ben searched her gaze with earnest desperation, as if she offered a lifeline.

“They don’t know she’s gone...Rey, you must get to her first.”

She didn’t need to ask who _they_ were. “I will.” It left her lips fiercely. Before parting, Rey captured his mouth in one last, bruising kiss, then was off.

Rey didn’t bother to check the small quarters that were Sarela’s effective prison, knowing she would be long gone. After only a brief hesitation, she threw her senses into the Force.

Immediately, Rey was engulfed in the turbulence and fury that was Ben. She could sense him marching forward with a vengeance, while barking orders to unseen individuals. Pushing away from him, but not truly letting go of the connection, Rey looked outward, searching for a glimmer that would take the familiar shape of Sarela. It was akin to wading through a sandstorm—accosted by heartbeats and thoughts, sounds and feelings, the bellow of space beyond the _Finalizer_ —but had no spark of intuition.

Rey returned to her body with a frustrated snarl. How did one _find_ someone in the Force? It had, incredibly, been a mere few days since she learned she could wield the Force, let alone consciously do so. The gaps in her knowledge were vast, although Rey had no intention of letting that stop her. 

Nibbling on her bruised lip, tender from her wound and swollen from Ben, Rey could not help but recall the odd blankness to Sarela on Tuanul. She’d had no Force signature that Rey could detect. Perhaps it was more than a deficiency in her vision or a sign of her inexperience.

Rey furrowed her brow, though not slowing her feet despite the uncertainty of her destination. _Think Rey._ She could _feel_ others in the Force, non-Force users, sentient beings, the flow of energies, movement through hyperspace. When she had awoken to the Force, the onslaught of _all of it_ had been overwhelming to say the least. To try to take in all of that vast unknown would be chaotic. She remembered the excruciating effort of trying to hold back the firefight on Tuanul. Could she find one person? The pilot, Poe Dameron.

As soon as the thought entered her mind, Rey dismissed it. She had spent only a few minutes in the man’s company, and doubted she could recognize him among the throng of beings.

_Rey._

She nearly jumped out of her skin as Ben’s mental voice called her.

_Dameron may be accompanied by a trooper. Hurry. They’ll find him soon._

Her feet came to an abrupt stop, a shiver running down her spine.

It had been an adrenaline spike, determination and terror so acute Rey found herself calling out to the stranger with a taste of his feelings infecting her own. Cagey as a bird, the man had resisted her questioning, albeit stoically.

“FN-2187.”

_How do you know that?_

She ran a tongue over her lower lip. Yes, she could remember him.

“I’ll explain later. But I know what I have to do.”

o-o-o-o-o-o

Mum stood three paces away, a blaster rifle in hand that left little doubt as to her willingness to use it.

"Step away. _Now_.” The slight edge to Rey’s otherwise steady command brought to mind a bit of _Him_ , in the firm grip of her blaster trained on Poe.

_She_ came for her.

Hysteria, and a bit of hope, was stretching her lips into a horror show smile. “Mum, this isn’t necessary—Poe would never hurt me.”

But Rey did not soften her stance. She tilted the blaster in a jerking motion, as if to wave their bodies into compliance.

At Sarela’s side, Poe moved warily to release the taut grip of her forearms, keeping his gaze fixed on Rey and the blaster throughout. At the return to autonomy, Sarela felt strangely unmoored, her flesh tingling with the rush of blood and coolness of the circulated air.

“I wouldn’t try anything.” Rey was speaking over their heads, to where Finn presumably stood. “FN-2187, isn’t it?”

“Finn.” Even through the mask’s modulator, the pride by which he bore his new name was evident.

As she watched Rey take in the correction, seemingly nonplused, it struck her suddenly.

These were her mother’s friends. At least, they were _supposed_ to be her mother’s friends.

Surely they could come to some amicable accord?

“ _You’re_ her mother.”

Although not phrased as a question, the incredulity beneath Poe’s controlled tone was unmistakable. In spite of his exhaustion, an emotional and psychological weariness from the trauma he had undergone, it was not difficult for Sarela to read the flicker of Poe’s thoughts, see him attempt to rationalize Rey’s absurd youth, with a feeling of dread. Horror, anger and pity, just a hint of them. Sickened, Sarela harshly closed the barriers of her mind and pushed those thoughts away.

“Correct.” Rey narrowed her hazel eyes, no doubt wising on to the same.

“Did he hurt you?”

Fury erupted over her mother’s delicate features. Knuckles clenched over the barrel of the blaster, whitened. “Ben would never!”

“He’s done worse and more.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Spoken like a First Order sycophant.”

“Fuck the First Order.”

“So it’s him you’re loyal to.”

At Poe’s sober pronouncement, Rey fell into wary silence. 

When he spoke next, his voice lost the hard edge, pitched to a gentler persuasion. “Come with us. _Both_ of you.”

“To the Resistance?” Although her mother imbued as much skepticism into the question as possible, as her gaze darted over Sarela, she imagined there was wistfulness beneath it.

And perhaps Poe was more perceptive than Sarela thought. He latched on to that spark with urgency. “There’d be a place for you.”

For a moment, Rey seemed to hesitate, yet when she spoke her voice was hard. “Tell me Captain, would you have sold my daughter to Phasma to gain your freedom?”

_What?_

Rey stared Poe down with steely defiance, but a chill lanced through Sarela’s heart. Whipping to face the pilot, Sarela desperately searched the taut line of his jaw, the troubled amber that refused to meet her gaze. “What is she talking about? It can’t be true—is it?”

Finally, in a clipped tone he answered. “It was an interrogation. I said what I needed to, but I wouldn’t have done it.”

Sarela felt brittle. A clawing pain gripped her gut with a cold finality. It was not a new sensation, if a bitter one. She had never expected goodness in others before now, she should have expected Poe to disappoint her. “Right,” she said flatly.

“Sarela...” Finn seemed just as distressed by the standoff between Poe and Rey and the influx of information he would no doubt understand little of. The sound of marching feet grew perilously louder.

Whatever was to happen, it needed to happen now. Body laden like durocrete, Sarela addressed her mother. “What will you do with them?”

Rey’s lips parted and closed. A slight flush colored her cheekbones. “Your father is coming for them.” It was said uncertainly, as if she had not considered what would happen past this point.

“ _Let them go._ Father will kill them. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course not but—”. Rey cut off her own words, as if shaken by Sarela’s bluntness and more uncertain than ever. It was disconcerting to see such naked apprehension in her mother’s expressive eyes. The wisps of sun bleached hair that fell across her forehead made Rey seem almost childlike.

But she wasn’t really her mother, was she? Rey was so young, only a few years older than Sarela herself, thrust into a conflict on the brink of war. If Sarela continued to change things, would they ever really become the same? The young woman on the cusp of adulthood before her and the woman who gave birth to her may have originated in the same shipyard, but they were starfighters traveling different hyperlanes—the destination would not be the same.

A peculiar grief accompanied the thought, one she shot down brutally. There was no time to mourn her mother’s death a second time.

Then she felt it—darkness, purpose, rage.

Father.

The blaster, held throughout in such a determined grip, fell limply by Rey’s side. Uncomprehending, Sarela glanced at Poe and Finn, still tensely watching, then took in Rey’s shuttered eyes. When she opened them, anguish churned before turning into grim resolve. “Get out before its too late. Sarela, make it quick.”

Of all of them, it was Finn who recovered first. After shooting Rey a curt nod, the stormtrooper turned to Sarela. “Take care of yourself.” With a squeeze of Poe’s shoulder, he ran up the metal grating.

Poe was slower to react, still nursing an awkwardly clenched jaw. With a bleary sigh, the pilot scrubbed his stubbled cheek and the unbruised eye. “I know that look. The General usually has the same before she tears into me.”

“Oh kriff it.” With that eloquent mumble, Sarela threw her arms around him. Poe was nowhere near as tall as her giant of a father, but he was solid and warm and remarkably inodorous after being in a cell. “Don’t die.”

There was a huff of laughter against her curls. As she released him, Poe made a lopsided smirk. “I’ll try.”

“Tell my grandmother I’m sorry. Now go!”

o-o-o-o-o-o

It was much harder to be unobtrusive during an alert, Sarela reflected as they slipped back into the hangar proper, already reflecting the damage that had been done. Stormtroopers were marching into the wide hangar doors, and the station desks were emptied of officers on the main floor.

Rey wasted little time in rolling them out of sight, folding her body into the recess of the outwardly protruding wall, that would provide temporary blaster cover. At Rey’s wordless motioning, Sarela crouched behind her, with Rey’s neat little buns emerged from the black hood in her line of vision. Impatient to see what was happening, Sarela craned her neck to see around Rey’s buns and blaster.

“C’mon Poe, get out of here,” she murmured, listening for the tell tale hum of the twin ion engine engaging.

Her hopes were rewarded by the shouts of dismay from the approaching troopers as a TIE/sf launched forward. But her triumph was cut short as the TIE jerked back like a toy caught on a string—her friends had forgotten, or had not known, to remove a supply line before taking off, opening themselves to enemy fire.

“No!”

“ _Sarela_ —!”

The scream wrenched from her throat was drowned out by blasterfire. Sarela hardly heard Rey’s dismayed cry as she scrambled unheeding to her feet to direct a blast of Force energy deflecting the blasters away from the TIE. A flash of heat, metal and smoke clouded her vision before she was pulled to the side, sharp fingers digging into her forearm and Rey’s blanched face swimming into focus. Blasterfire was raining upon the docked TIEs, sending heat and fallen debris in their midst. For a moment, stunned, Sarela thought they hovered harmlessly above them, until she took in Rey’s grim expression and outstretched palm deflecting them from harm’s way.

Her friends were still struggling with the supply line, and seemed to have decided to blast off the cord. Thinking quickly, Sarela targeted her sights on the supply line—she had never tried to move something with the Force at such a distance, but surely it would follow the same principle? Gritting her teeth, Sarela _tugged_.

It was more than Sarela’s screams that filled the hangar as both TIE and supply line came hurtling downward. In horror, Sarela let go and then pushed desperately outward in an attempt to counteract the TIE’s fall. For a moment something, no _someone_ fiercely brilliant enveloped her in ethereal Light, holding her steady and guiding them forward. The TIE careened away and with a release of sparks became untethered from the supply line.

The air hissed with blaster fire as the stormtrooper unit regained their formation and resumed raining fire on the retreating TIE. Sarela prepared herself to deflect the blasters when an explosion on her right had her scrambling for cover. It seemed they had the aft cannons fire to secure their exit.

Still crouched on the dusty ground, Sarela peered through the smoke to see the TIE had cleared the hangar.

“They made it.” The whisper escaped her lips in disbelief. A hiccuping laugh then followed. Whipping her head about, Sarela repeated in a louder voice, “Rey, they made it!”

But a remarkably harried Rey glared down at her with a pinched expression that made Sarela feel years younger. “Next time you _will_ listen to me.”

o-o-o-o-o-o

Rey was exhausted.

Chaos reined as the _Finalizer’s_ crew mobilized in the wake of the escape of the Resistance pilot and stormtrooper fugitive. The agitation of officers scrambling to initiate canons, the fury of high command—no doubt Ben’s more than any other—created a potent slurry of the Force.

_She let them go._

There was no regret. Two men’s lives were held within her hands. To aid the Resistance, which sought to free the Galaxy.

It was the right thing to do.

How could she possibly regret that?

But why did doing the right thing feel like betraying Ben? Why must stealing a glimpse of happiness come at such a cost?

It was stupid of her, to not recognize the choice laid bare before her. Naive. Once again the foolish girl watching helplessly as Devi and Strunk flew off on the Ghtroc 690.

The moment they slipped away, Rey had sent a terse message through the bond.

_I have Sarela._

Then she closed it.

Since awakening to her abilities, she’d had no further lessons in the Force, and how _idyllic_ were they in retrospect. On Jakku, Rey had witnessed the way Ben deflected blasters; she copied it, tested it, and took it as her own. Learning to use her staff, studying flight simulators or the blaster—those skills were not so different. When necessity reared its ugly face, Rey was accustomed to making due.

So she’d groped her way through the dark, found the glimmering path that drew her to Ben, and imagined it gone.

For the first time, there was silence in her own mind.

Not permanently, of that Rey was certain.

And once Ben had realized what she’d done, Rey could feel him battering her mental shields. Cut off from the steady presence she had unawares grown accustomed to, she nonetheless could imagine his confusion and hurt funneling into an agonized rage fueled by the Dark, with an acute anguish that tasted very much of guilt.

She thought, with dull resignation, of his promise. _I will come to you. Tonight._

It had been sweet, those brief, blinding moments of fragile joy. Her lips still tingled in remembrance of his touch, his taste.

An oasis, a respite from the desert heat, vanishing a mere mirage.

There was a ship. An older model, but equipped with a hyperdrive. She’d weaseled her way inside with her wits as a scavenger and her abilities of the occult. Although she’d never piloted out of atmo before, she was reasonably confident she could figure out its controls. The clearance codes she had read from an officer’s mind. Tucked beneath the thick cloak was a bag containing her stolen provisions.

They could leave now. It was likely for the best. Leave before he left her.

Take Sarela somewhere no one knew them, an Outer rim planet. Find a trade to make a living. And try her best to forget.

But she knew she’d never do it. Couldn’t do that to him.

Frankly, even if she tried, she wasn’t sure she could ever truly hide from him. 

“We’d better lay low.”

“A bit late for that.”

Embroiled in her own thoughts, Rey had done little more than mumble, but at Sarela’s quip she shot the girl a stern look. “No thanks to you.”

Sable curls swept across her brow as Sarela glanced away in chastisement. “Well there’s no good in heading back to my cell. Poe blasted the door open.”

_Of course he did._ “Subtle.” Taking a breath, she continued, “It’s fine. We’ll go to my room. Thanks to your father, knowledge of your existence has been contained mostly to the First Order’s high command so we should escape too much notice for now. Things are chaotic enough as is.”

Sarela made a grimace, huffing unintelligibly under her breath as she followed, but Rey could fill in the blanks on the nature of her grievance.

There was no space for conversation as they navigated the _Finalizer’s_ corridors, (both hooded, at her own urging) although they encountered little trouble from others. The Star Destroyer shook like a happabore prodded by Sarco Plank’s cruel sticks, nearly rattling them off their feet. Rey, accustomed to scrambling over sand dunes and through the ruins of the Graveyard, kept to her feet gamely, but Sarela braced against the wall.

“What was that?”

Holding out a hand to grasp her arm, Rey hoisted Sarela to her feet. “I think your friends took out the turbolasers. They might just be crazy enough to get away with it.”

“I hope so!”

It was only after they were safely ensconced in her quarters that Rey could finally breathe easy. She was struck, as always, by the sleek luxury of such expansive quarters all for herself. The _Hellhound Two_ , her home scrapped from an Imperial AT-AT, had been nothing to sniff at—with her own hands and grit Rey had built a home that although far from luxurious, had at least been her own. But the quarters assigned to her by Ben were undeniably fine. A bedroom, private ‘fresher and sitting room with a table for dining. The sheets of deep navy were so soft Rey lacked the words to describe the material.

“Are you hungry?”

After poking her head inside the bedroom and inspecting the ‘fresher, Sarela wandered back to plop down gracelessly on the synth leather sofa, her legs left dangling off the edge and head propped on the armrest. At the question, the girl admitted, “I’m rarely not.”

Twitching a smile, Rey handed her a wrapped parcel, watching in half amusement and half pained recognition at the eagerness by which Sarela tore into the bread rolls. Some habits were hard to break. After eating her fill of the food Ben requisitioned on her behalf, Rey had squirreled away what she could. The breads and fruits, she understood, would quickly spoil without preservation, but her pragmatism was of benefit now.

Eyeing the girl speculatively as the rolls vanished from sight, Rey wondered what kind of life Sarela had lived. “Did someone look after you? Made sure you had food, safety.”

Whatever lightness to the girl’s indolent pose shuttered into the taut wariness of a threatened steelpecker. “I was given to a guardian. They fed me, and had me attend school. But after...I wandered for a long time. Food was not always easy to find.” Her voice was flat, as though reciting planets of the Inner Rim or the specs of a starfighter. But her eyes were a different matter. They bled pain and turmoil with the same honesty of her father’s.

Rey was out of her depth. It was obvious that a wealth of emotion underlined her words, but she knew not how to broach it. “You wandered...”

There was a rustle of fabric shifting against the synth leather as Sarela slumped deeper into its depths, looking away at the ceiling. “In the past. For...well I don’t know how long. Feels like a dream mostly.”

_In the past._ Her past, Rey’s present. The words had been spoken matter-of-factly, but Rey still found herself struggling to wrap her mind around the notion. It was easier, somehow, to accept the connection between them, to accept Sarela herself, than any of the future portended, a future, _her_ future, which already stretched into another’s recollection. It was absurd. It was incomprehensible. She could only laugh in the face of it. Rey shook her head when Sarela, drawn by the huffed sound, glanced her way. “The Force. _Time travel._ A week ago I was cutting power converters from a wrecked star destroyer to trade for portions, and now it’s like I’m living in a holovid.”

Biting her lip with a look of uncertainty, Sarela watched her with wide eyes of clear blue, smudged by shadows and rather waif-like in her shapeless layers. Despite the rolls, her cheeks were hollow. Suppressing a smile, Rey tossed another bread roll the girl’s way, but found herself smiling anyway as Sarela eagerly accepted it.

For a moment, only the sounds of Sarela’s muffled chewing to break the silence, the stillness itself struck Rey. Did this mean the Resistance pilot and the stormtrooper had gotten away? After that first attempt, Ben had ceased to bombard Rey’s mind, distracted, she supposed, in dealing with the escaped pilot. Would he need her? Was he furious at her betrayal? Only madness answered these questions. Unable to bear the sting of self-recrimination, Rey instead voiced another thought.

“Do you wish you’d gone with them?”

“What? With Poe and Finn?” Sarela wrinkled her nose, drawing fine ripples across pale skin dotted with freckles. “I wasn’t _trying_ to leave. I came _for you_.”

The matter of fact reply sent a burst of surprised warmth through her. Emotion strangled her of words. _She came back for her?_ Blinking back tears, Rey hardly knew what to say, so she reached forward and squeezed the girl’s hand.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Sarela blinked her way into awareness slowly.

It took several more moments to recognize where she was—black and chrome walls and an unremarkable table did not immediately take shape in her memory. Sarela had grown accustomed to catching shut eye in strange places, but tension melted from her shoulders as she caught Rey’s sharp profile.

A warm blanket of navy blue was draped over her, and Sarela shrugged off its soft weight to lean on her haunches, studying Rey’s form curiously.

Rey had removed the thick layers of her cloak and ribbed over tunic, garbed in a loose v neck of off white as she sat crossed legged on the floor with her hands placed limply on each outstretched knee and her eyes closed. With the object of her study unaware, Sarela allowed herself to drink her fill of the woman who would be her mother.

The lights had been dimmed, casting her folded body into shadow and illuminating the soft part of her lips but drawing sharp contours in the arch of her brow and jut of her jaw. As a child, Sarela had seen little of herself in her mother, but found other ways to draw nearer—imitating her mother’s cadence, and during their brief visits, eagerly sitting for her mother as light fingers teased her locks into matching three buns and listening to her stories. If she closed her eyes, Sarela could imagine her mother’s scent as she buried her face into her lap, wishing desperately to never part.

“Are you meditating?”

The peaceful repose shifted instantly as hazel eyes snapped open, the oddly rested hands turning to brace against the floor. “You’re awake.”

Belatedly, it occurred to Sarela that perhaps she had committed another faux pas. “Sorry for the interruption.”

But Rey waved her concern away. “Its not,” she said simply.

“Can I ask you something? Why don’t you have questions for me?” The words left her lips before she could retract them. Sarela could curse her own impulsiveness—Rey’s reticence had relieved her, but as the conversation creaked along and sputtered awkwardly like a decrepit engine, Sarela found herself reluctantly curious. 

“You mean, about the future?” Face half cast in shadow, Rey’s eyes were unreadable. A tentative feeler with the Force gleaned nothing.

Biting her lip, Sarela nodded. “Most people would want to know, I think.”

Rey shrugged, casting her gaze across the room and on anything but Sarela. “Seems dangerous to know too much about your future.”

“That wouldn’t stop most people,” Sarela felt the need to point out, although she didn’t disagree.

“Some things are better left in the dark.” The whispered words sent a shiver down Sarela’s spine. Unbidden, images summoned from her nightmares flitted through her mind. Feeling ill, Sarela swallowed heavily. What did Rey fear to know?

Rey was still speaking, a gentle murmur that brought to mind tender caresses through unruly locks, spinning tales from another world. “You weren’t out long. You should lay down on my bed, get some real rest.”

It was a sign of her exhaustion, that Sarela found herself obeying dumbly, letting Rey guide her into the small bedroom to curl up on the bed with the navy blanket in hand.

After a moment’s hesitation, the bed creaked under the weight of Rey laying down beside her.

For several minutes, Rey said nothing, merely stared through the darkness at the ceiling. Sarela began to wonder if she had drifted off, when Rey spoke in a near whisper.

“I _do_ want to know. Will the war end? Will we have food and shelter? Can I protect those I love? Most of all, how can I keep you safe.” There was a brush of fabric, a wry noise that Sarela imagined shaping into a self-deprecating smile. “You don’t need to answer these.

“I have always wanted answers, but the truth is I don’t need you tell me. That I was abandoned by my parents.”

The breath and the room itself seemed sucked into her body, but no sound found their way into words. Sarela could only listen in aching dumbness as Rey continued her pained confession.

“They were junk traders. Exchanged me for drinking money and a hit of spice. I used to tell myself they’d be back for me...”. Rey gave an unsteady exhale. “It was a lie. A fantasy so I wouldn’t have to remember the truth. They’re dead. But they wouldn’t have come back anyway.”

“ _Mum—_ ”. Her head was spinning, her heart leaden. _Parents are supposed to protect their children. One day, when you are older, I will try to explain it so you can understand._ Sarela was seven years old again, learning her mother anew, and confronted with a world built on cruelty and iniquity. “I didn’t—you never told me...not all of it.” _I will kill them all, for what they did to you._ The childish promise rang hollowly in her memory, but her gut twisted with impotent fury and anguish.

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, but I can guess.” In the darkness, Sarela could just barely make out a pale cheek as Rey curled on her side.

“They don’t matter, Sarela, just you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, I don't have a lot to blab about today, but I do have a mini announcement.
> 
> I struggled for the last two weeks on finishing up the ending of this chapter, and I am coming to the realization that I'm rather burnt out of writing in general, and probably this fic as well. Inspiration for writing comes from life, and mine has been pretty limited for the last three months, so this isn't all that surprising. 😂
> 
> That said, I think I need to take a little break from this fic to restore my capacity for creativity, and try working on some other writing. I don't anticipate this being a very long break--I already have at least a basic mental outline of the next chapter. Hopefully taking some time off will improve my writing.
> 
> I guess I ended up saying a lot anyway. Oops. Take care everyone 😘❤️  
> [darthrena](https://darthrena.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> My working title for this chapter had been "A Fall or a Leap," but I wanted to align the title with a reference to the point of view, like with the remaining chapters. I was inspired last night while editing and choose the current title. After choosing the title, I realized the title is coincidentally the same as a popular Japanese animation and live action movie from over ten years ago, Toki wo Kakeru Shoujo (The Girl Who Leapt Through Time). Both versions featured a high school girl traveling in time, and the live action version had her meeting her parents and romance. Neither have anything to do with this fic (therefore sorry for my needless tangent, heh), but perhaps I subconsciously referenced them.
> 
> Anyway, it's a short first chapter, but I'll try to get the next chapter edited and uploaded in the next couple days. I'm going to a hot spring for the weekend and won't be able to work on it until I return.


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